THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


THE   SECOND    POST 


BY   THE   SAME   AUTHOR 

ANTHOLOGIES 
THE  LADIES'  PAGEANT 
SOME  FRIENDS  OF  MINE 
THE  GENTLEST  ART 

NOVELS 

MR.  INGLESIDE 
OVER  BEMERTON'S 
LISTENER'S  LURE 

ESSAYS 

ONE  DAY  AND  ANOTHER 
CHARACTER  AND  COMEDY 

TRAVEL 

A  WANDERER  IN  PARIS 
A  WANDERER  IN  LONDON 
A  WANDERER  IN  HOLLAND 
HIGHWAYS  AND  BYWAYS  IN  SUSSEX 

STORIES  FOR  CHILDREN 
ANNE'S  TERRIBLE  GOOD  NATURE 
THE  SLOWCOACH 


„  A  COMPANION  TO  „ 

THE  GENTLEST  ART 


E-V-LUCAS 

|t!s  all  very  well  to  talk 
pfyGUi^Beetfcovensa 

"in 


WiW  YORK:  THIi  MACMH.LAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1910, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up,  electrotyped,  and  published  October,  1910. 


NorfaooB 

J.  8.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 

book  is  a  supplement  and  companion  to  The 
Gentlest  Art,  an  anthology  of  letters  which  was 
published  in  1907.  A  list  of  persons  to  whom  I  am 
indebted  for  the  use  of  copyright  material  appears  at  the 
end,  but  I  should  like  here  to  thank  them  again,  and  also 
to  draw  attention  to  the  new  letters,  now  printed  for  the 
first  time,  which  are  to  be  found  on  pp.  224,  225,  229, 

233>  234- 

E.  V.  L. 


2039536 


CONTENTS 

I.     FROM   AGE  TO  YOUTH 

PAGE 

The  Rev.  Sydney  Smith  sends  a  message  to  a  little  visitor  I 

Landor  and  his  son  exchange  missives  (I.,  II.)  .  .  I 

The  Rev.  Sydney  Smith  offers  counsel  to  Lucy  .  .  2 
Charles  Dickens  assures  a  young  admirer  of  Nicholas 

Nickleby  that  all  shall  go  well  .....  3 

Charles  Dickens  is  forced  to  disappoint  Miss  Mary  Talfourd  5 
Bishop  Walsham  How  expresses  his  disappointment  to  the 

children  of  the  Rev.  Daniel  Tyson      ....  6 

R.  L.  S.  transfers  his  birthday  rights          ....  7 

R.  L.  S.  sets  up  a  memory          ......  9 

\Villiam  Thomas,  Clerk  of  the  Council,  tenders  to  Edward 

the  Sixth  a  few  questions  the  answers  to  which  are 

useful  to  monarchs 10 

II.    THE  TRAVELLERS 

Shelley  describes  his  life  at  Leghorn  .  .  .  -17 
Shelley  numbers  the  inhabitants  of  Lord  Byron's  menagerie  20 
Charles  Dickens  sends  an  American  the  news  from  America  22 

R.  L.  S.  in  San  FYancisco 25 

R.  L.  S.  fixes  his  ambition 28 

HI.     ADONAIS   GARRULOUS 

I.-III.  To  John  Hamilton  Reynolds  ;  IV.  To  the  Misses 
M.  and  S.  Jeffrey  ;  V.  To  Thomas  Keats ;  VI.  To 
Fanny  Keats ,  ,  31 

vii 


Contents 

IV.     FIRST   CENTURY   A.D. 

PAGE 

Four  Letters  of  Pliny  the  Younger 46 

To  Bebius ;   to  Priscus  ;   to  Calvisius  ;   to  Fuscus. 

V.     E.    F.G. 

Eight  letters  of  Edward  FitzGeralJ 54 

I.  To  W.  F.  Pollock ;  II.  To  Samuel  Laurence ; 
III.  To  Mrs.  Cowell ;  IV.  To  George  Crabbe  ;  V.  and 
VI.  To  W.  F.  Pollock;  VII.  To  E.  B.  Cowell; 
VIII.  To  Fanny  Kemble. 

VI.     ELIA 

I.  The  Failure  of  Godwin's  Play          ....  65 

II.  Brawn 68 

III.  All  the  news,  for  China   ......  70 

IV.  Tommy  Bye     ........  73 

V.  The  Little  Pig 75 

VI.    The  Toast .        .77 

VII.     Sunday 77 

VII.     RURAL   FELICITY 

Thomas  Gray  tells  the  Rev.  James  Brown  of  chaos  and 

cream         .........       80 

Thomas  Gray  provides  Wharton  with  a  garden  calendar    .       81 
William  Cowper  records  his  history  as  a  gardener      .         .       86 
Edward  Gibbon  meditates  farming    .....       88 

The  Rev.  Laurence  Sterne  describes  his  happiness  at 

Coxwould  .........       90 

Gilbert  White  on  all  the  finches  of  the  grove  .  .  -91 
Charles  James  Fox  instructs  Mr.  Gray  as  to  the  note  of  the 

nightingale          ........       95 

William  Blake  and  his  wife  try  to  lure  the  Flaxmans  to 

Sussex 96 

viii 


Concents 

VIII.     A   LICHFIELD   CHAPLET 

PAGE 

I.  To  Mrs.  Mompessan ;   II.  To  Mrs.  Adey  ;   III.  To  Mrs. 

Mompessan  ;    IV.  To  David  Somervell,  Esq.     .         .       98 

IX.     OUR  VILLAGE   RECEIVES  THE  NEWS 

B.  R.  Haydon  to  Miss  Mitford  (I.-VI.)     .         .         .         .114 

X.    THE   LADY  OF   LES   ROCHERS 

Madame  de  Sevigne  to  her  daughter  (I.-VII.)  .         .     121 

XI.     CARLYLE   DISCOVERS   LONDON 
Thomas  Carlyle  to  Alexander  Carlyle  (I.-III.)  .         .     131 

XII.     PARTICULAR   WIFE  TO   PARTICULAR 
HUSBAND 

Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  to  Thomas  Carlyle  (I.-VII.)       .        .143 

XIII.     THE   WITTY   CANON 
The  Rev.  Sydney  Smith  to  Lady  Holland          .        .         .     173 

XIV.     CHARACTERS 

Mr.  Gabriel  Bullock  offers  his  heart  to   Mrs.   Margaret 

Clark  182 

Sir  John  Dalrymple  details  his  ill-luck  ....  183 
Sir  Hew  Dalrymple  recommends  Dishington  for  preferment  187 
A  Welsh  gentleman  obtains  a  situation  for  his  son  in  the 

East  India  House 190 

Shelley  (at  school)  prepares  a  firm  of  publishers  for  the 

worst 191 

Charles  Dickens  introduces  Professor  Felton  to  the  great 

Dando 191 

ix 


Contents 

XV.    THE   OLD   LION 

PAGE 

W.  S.  Landor :  extracts  from  his  correspondence  .  .  195 
Charles  Dickens  to  his  old  friend 215 

XVI.     LACONICS 

The  Sailor  and  the  King  (I.,  II.) 217 

Anne,  Countess  of  Dorset,  speaks  her  mind  to  Sir  Joseph 

Williamson,  Secretary  of  State  under  Charles  II.  .  217 
Garrick  and  his  factotum  (I.— IV.)  .  .  .  .  .218 

Captain  Walton  wastes  no  words 219 

William  Cowper  acknowledges  a  gift  of  cloth  .  .  .  219 

The  loans  that  failed  (in  three  examples)  .  .  .  220 

Charles  Napier  ("  Black  Charles")  asks  for  a  ship  .  .  221 

The  candidate  and  the  voter  (I.,  II.)  ....  221 

The  Rev.  Sydney  Smith  accepts  an  invitation  conditionally  222 
Walter  Savage  Landor  to  Lord  Normanby,  who  had  cut 

him 222 

Louis  Duchosal,  the  Genevese  poet,  writes  to  Paul  Ver- 

laine  introducing  a  disciple  .....  223 

An  old  lady  sends  her  nephew  a  present  (I.,  II.)  .  .  223 
Master  George  Wells,  after  an  operation,  informs  Master 

Frank  Wells  of  his  duty 224 

A  commercial  traveller,  after  a  boisterous  absence  from 

work,  inquires  as  to  his  status 224 

XVII.     WHIMSICALITIES 

A  farmer's  daughter  is  forced  to  decline    ....  225 
A  Quaker  schoolboy  (aged  13)  is  dutiful  to  his  parents    .  225 
Miss  Pelham's  maid,  Mrs.  Maxwell,  has  to  refuse  an  invi- 
tation            226 

Lord  Stormont   and  Sir  James  Scarlett  crave  the  social 

influence  of  the  ladies  of  Norwich      ....  226 


Contents 


PAGE 


The  six  Misses  Montgomerie  (daughters  of  the  Earl  of 

Eglinton)  ask  a  boon  of  Lord  Milton          .         .         .     227 
A  gentle  lady  puts  a  firm  to  the  pain  of  selling  her  some- 
thing   229 

A  true  Protestant  objects  to  "  Wolsey "  underwear    .         .     229 

A  belligerent  changes  his  mind 230 

A  Chinese  editor  is  under  the  painful  necessity  of  refusing 

a  contribution 230 

A  great  Victorian  is  beset  by  a  poor  artist  .  .  .231 
Mr.  Henwood  asks  a  variety  of  assistance  of  the  Rev.  A. 

Blomfield 233 

An  old  Irish  farmer  desires  the  custom  of  an  honourable 

solvent  butter-merchant  (I.-IV.)         ....     234 

XVIII.     OLLA   PODRIDA 

Bishop  Warburton  preaches  philosophy  to  the  Rev.  Dr. 

Stukely 239 

Dr.  Andrew  Brown  (  ?)  instils  worldly  wisdom  into  Scotch 

physicians 240 

Lady  Dufferin  is  whimsical  on  property  ....  243 

Canon  Ainger  sends  a  Christmas  hamper  of  good  stories  .  245 
R.  L.  S.  has  an  adventure,  and  speculates  on  the  Elgin 

marbles 248 

R.  L.  S.  attends  a  performance  of  the  Demi-Monde  by 

Dumas  fils  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .251 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  returns  thanks  for  a  barometer     .  252 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  felicitates  with  another  young  man  253 

R.  L.  S.  loses  a  friend        .......  254 

Lieutenant-Commander  Sakuma  Tsutomu,  of  the  Japanese 

navy,  describes  the  sinking  of  his  submarine  .  .  259 

Abraham  Lincoln  comforts  a  mother  ....  261 

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS       .......    263 

xi 


THE    SECOND    POST 

I 

FROM    AGE   TO   YOUTH 

The  Rev.  Sydney  Smith  sends  a  message   to   a  little 
visitor      /^>        "v>        "v>        ^>        "^>        x^> 

FOSTON,    1823 

DEAR  LITTLE  GEE,  —Many  thanks  for  your  kind 
and  affectionate  letter.  I  cannot  recollect  what 
you  mean  by  our  kindness ;  all  that  I  remember  is,  that 
you  came  to  see  us,  and  we  all  thought  you  very  pleasant, 
good-hearted,  and  strongly  infected  with  Lancastrian 
tones  and  pronunciations.  God  bless  you,  dear  child ! 
I  shall  always  be  very  fond  of  you  till  you  grow  tall,  and 
speak  without  an  accent,  and  marry  some  extremely 
disagreeable  person.  —  Ever  very  affectionately  yours, 

SYDNEY  SMITH 

Landor  and  his  son  exchange  missives  -^        ^> 


MY  DEAREST  PAPA,  — I  hope  you  are  well.  We 
have  all  had  bad  colds.  But  thank  God  we  are 
now  quite  well  again.  Walter,  Charles,  and  Julia  send 
you  a  thousand  kisses.  And  I  send  you  ten  thousand, 
and  I  wish  you  to  come  back  again  with  all  my  heart. 
And  believe  me,  my  dearest  papa,  your  affectionate  son, 

A.  S.  LANDOR 

B  I 


The  Second  Post 


II 

A/TY  DEAREST  ARNOLD,— I  received  your  letter 
*•»•*  to-day  much  too  late  to  answer  it  by  the  post; 
but  you  will  see  that  I  was  thinking  of  you  and  of  Julia 
yesterday  by  the  verses  I  send  you  on  the  other  side. 
I  am  very  much  pleased  to  observe  that  you  write  better 
than  I  do  ;  and,  if  you  continue  to  read  the  Greek  nouns, 
you  will  very  soon  know  more  Greek  [than  I],  unless  I 
begin  again  to  study  it  every  day.  When  I  was  a  little 
boy  I  did  not  let  any  one  get  before  me ;  and  you  seem 
as  if  you  would  do  the  same.  I  promised  you  a  Greek 
book,  but  I  will  give  you  two  if  you  go  on  well,  and  next 
year  two  others,  very  beautiful  and  entertaining.  I  shall 
never  be  quite  happy  until  I  see  you  again  and  put  my 
cheek  upon  your  head.  Tell  my  sweet  Julia  that,  if  I 
see  twenty  little  girls,  I  will  not  romp  with  any  of  them 
before  I  romp  with  her ;  and  kiss  your  two  dear  brothers 
for  me.  You  must  always  love  them  as  much  as  I  love 
you,  and  you  must  teach  them  how  to  be  good  boys,  which 
I  cannot  do  so  well  as  you  can.  God  preserve  and  bless 
you,  my  own  Arnold.  My  heart  beats  as  if  it  would  fly 
to  you,  my  own  fierce  creature.  We  shall  very  soon  meet. 
Love  your  BABBO 


The  Rev.  Sydney  Smith  offers  counsel  to  Lucy          -^> 

LONDON,  July  22,  1835 

T    UCY,  Lucy,  my  dear  child,  don't  tear  your  frock : 

•* — '     tearing  frocks  is  not  of  itself  a  proof  of  genius ;  but 

write  as  your  mother  writes,  act  as  your  mother  acts;  be 

2 


From  Age  to  Youth 

frank,  loyal,  affectionate,  simple,  honest ;  and  then  in- 
tegrity or  laceration  of  frock  is  of  little  import. 

And  Lucy,  dear  child,  mind  your  arithmetic.  You 
know,  in  the  first  sum  of  yours  I  ever  saw,  there  was  a 
mistake.  You  had  carried  two  (as  a  cab  is  licensed  to 
do)  and  you  ought,  dear  Lucy,  to  have  carried  but  one. 
Is  this  a  trifle  ?  What  would  life  be  without  arithmetic, 
but  a  scene  of  horrors  ? 

You  are  going  to  Boulogne,  the  city  of  debts,  peopled 
by  men  who  never  understood  arithmetic ;  by  the  time 
you  return,  I  shall  probably  have  received  my  first 
paralytic  stroke,  and  shall  have  lost  all  recollection  of 
you ;  therefore  I  now  give  you  my  parting  advice.  Don't 
marry  anybody  who  has  not  a  tolerable  understanding 
and  a  thousand  a  year ;  and  God  bless  you,  dear  child ! 

SYDNEY  SMITH 

Charles  Dickens  assures  a  young  admirer  of  Nicholas 
Nickleby  that  all  shall  go  well      *O         <2y         *O 

(To  Master  Hastings  Hughes) 

DOUGHTY  STREET,  LONDON 
December  12,  1838 

"DESPECTED  SIR,— I  have  given  Squeers  one  cut 
*•>  on  the  neck  and  two  on  the  head,  at  which  he 
appeared  much  surprised  and  began  to  cry,  which,  being 
a  cowardly  thing,  is  just  what  I  should  have  expected 
from  him  —  wouldn't  you  ? 

I  have  carefully  done  what  you  told  me  in  your  letter 
about  the  lamb  and  the  two  "  sheeps  "  for  the  little  boys. 
They  have  also  had  some  good  ale  and  porter,  and  some 
wine.  I  am  sorry  you  didn't  say  what  wine  you  would 

3 


The    Second    Post 

like  them  to  have.  I  gave  them  some  sherry  which  they 
liked  very  much,  except  one  boy,  who  was  a  little  sick 
and  choked  a  good  deal.  He  was  rather  greedy,  and 
that's  the  truth,  and  I  believe  it  went  the  wrong  way, 
which  I  say  served  him  right,  and  I  hope  you  will  say 
so  too. 

Nicholas  had  his  roast  lamb,  as  you  said  he  was  to, 
but  he  could  not  eat  it  all,  and  says  if  you  do  not  mind 
his  doing  so  he  should  like  to  have  the  rest  hashed 
to-morrow  with  some  greens,  which  he  is  very  fond  of, 
and  so  am  I.  He  said  he  did  not  like  to  have  his  porter 
hot,  for  he  thought  it  spoilt  the  flavour,  so  I  let  him  have 
it  cold.  You  should  have  seen  him  drink  it.  I  thought 
he  never  would  have  left  off.  I  also  gave  him  three 
pounds  of  money,  all.  in  sixpences,  to  make  it  seem  more, 
and  he  said  directly  that  he  should  give  more  than  half 
to  his  mamma  and  sister,  and  divide  the  rest  with  poor 
Smike.  And  I  say  he  is  a  good  fellow  for  saying  so; 
and  if  anybody  says  he  isn't  I  am  ready  to  fight  him 
whenever  they  like  —  there! 

Fanny  Squeers  shall  be  attended  to,  depend  upon  it. 
Your  drawing  of  her  is  very  like,  except  that  I  don't  think 
the  hair  is  quite  curly  enough.  The  nose  is  particularly 
like  hers,  and  so  are  the  legs.  She  is  a  nasty  disagree- 
able thing,  and  I  know  it  will  make  her  very  cross  when 
she  sees  it ;  and  what  I  say  is  that  I  hope  it  may.  You 
will  say  the  same,  I  know  —  at  least  I  think  you  will. 

I  meant  to  have  written  you  a  long  letter,  but  I  cannot 
write  very  fast  when  I  like  the  person  I  am  writing  to, 
because  that  makes  me  think  about  them,  and  I  like  you, 
and  so  I  tell  you.  Besides,  it  is  just  eight  o'clock  at 
night,  and  I  always  go  to  bed  at  eight  o'clock  except 
when  it  is  my  birthday,  and  then  I  sit  up  to  supper.  So 
4 


From  Age  to  Youth 

I  will  not  say  anything  more  beside  this  —  and  that  is 
my  love  to  you  and  Neptune ;  and  if  you  will  drink  my 
health  every  Christmas  Day  I  will  drink  yours  —  come. 
—  I  am,  Respected  Sir,  your  affectionate  Friend, 

CHARLES  DICKENS 

P.S.  — I  don't  write  my  name  very  plain,  but  you  know 
what  it  is,  you  know,  so  never  mind. 


Charles   Dickens   is    forced   to   disappoint   Miss  Mary 
Talfourd      *o      *^x      *o      ^>      x^      «^,      *o 

DEVONSHIRE  TERRACE,  December  16,  1841 

MY  DEAR  MARY,  —  I  should  be  delighted  to  come 
and  dine  with  you  on  your  birthday,  and  to  be  as 
merry  as  I  wish  you  to  be  always;  but  as  I  am  going, 
within  a  very  few  days  afterwards,  a  very  long  distance 
from  home,  and  I  shall  not  see  any  of  my  children 
for  six  long  months,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  pass 
all  that  week  at  home  for  their  sakes ;  just  as  you 
would  like  your  papa  and  mamma  to  spend  all  the  time 
they  possibly  could  spare  with  you  if  they  were  about  to 
make  a  dreary  voyage  to  America ;  which  is  what  I  am 
going  to  do  myself. 

But  although  I  cannot  come  to  see  you  on  that  day, 
you  may  be  sure  that  I  shall  not  forget  that  it  is  your 
birthday,  and  that  I  shall  drink  your  health  and  many 
happy  returns,  in  a  glass  of  wine,  filled  as  full  as  it  will 
hold.  And  I  shall  dine  at  half-past  five  myself,  so  that 
we  may  both  be  drinking  our  wine  at  the  same  time; 
and  I  shall  tell  my  Mary  (for  I  have  got  a  daughter  of 
that  name,  but  she  is  a  very  small  one  as  yet)  to  drink 

5 


The  Second   Post 

your  health  too ;  and  we  shall  try  and  make  believe  that 
you  are  here,  or  that  we  are  in  Russell  Square,  which  is 
the  best,  thing  we  can  do,  I  think,  under  the  circum- 
stances. 

You  are  growing  up  so  fast  that  by  the  time  I  come 
home  again  I  expect  you  will  be  almost  a  woman  ;  and  in  a 
very  few  years  we  shall  be  saying  to  each  other:  "Don't 
you  remember  what  the  birthdays  used  to  be  in  Russell 
Square?"  and  "How  strange  it  seems!"  and  "How 
quickly  time  passes!"  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you 
know.  But  I  shall  always  be  very  glad  to  be  asked  on 
your  birthday,  and  to  come  if  you  will  let  me,  and  to  send 
my  love  to  you,  and  to  wish  that  you  may  live  to  be 
very  old  and  very  happy,  which  I  do  now  with  all  my 
heart.  —  Believe  me  always,  my  dear  Mary,  yours  affec- 
tionately, CHARLES  DICKENS 

Bishop    Walsham    How    expresses    his    disappointment 
to  the  children  of  the  Rev.  Daniel  Tyson    -<^v      "^> 

BUTTERED  TOAST 

*T^HERE  was  a  Bishop,  old  and  grey, 
•*•    Who  came  to  Brighton  one  fine  day, 
And  it  chanced  at  the  time  there  were  living  there 
Three  little  maidens  bright  and  fair, 
And  they  were  as  merry  as  merry  could  be, 
And  the  Bishop  he  loved  them,  one,  two,  three. 
Now  the  Bishop  he  craftily  planned  to  arrive 
At  the  door  of  the  house  as  the  clock  struck  five, 
For  once  on  a  time  he  had  called  at  the  door 
At  the  very  same  hour  two  years  before : 
The  master  and  mistress  were  out,  you  see, 
6 


From  Age  to  Youth 

And  the  children  were  having  their  nursery  tea ; 
So  he  mounted,  unbidden,  the  topmost  stair, 
And  asked  to  partake  of  the  children's  fare ; 
And  no  words  are  potent  enough  to  reveal 
The  exquisite  bliss  of  that  nursery  meal ! 
The  sweet  little  maidens  were  full  of  fun, 
And  the  Bishop  he  loved  them,  three,  two,  one ; 
But  that  which  enchanted  his  Lordship  most 
Was  the  hot,  brown,  well-buttered  nursery  toast ! 
Alas  !  for  the  words  that  now  smote  on  his  ear,  — 
"Not  at  home,"  not  even  the  children  dear ! 
So  sadly  he  turned  away  from  the  door, 
And  he  sighed  to  think  that  his  dream  was  o'er ; 
And,  as  memories  sweet  of  the  past  arose, 
He  brushed  a  tear  from  the  end  of  his  nose, 
For  he'd  failed  in  his  longing  once  more  to  see 
Those  sweet  little  maidens,  one,  two,  three. 
Yet  the  one  soft  vision  that  touched  him  most 
Was  the  thought  of  that  nursery  buttered  toast! 


R.  L.  S.  transfers  his  birthday  rights   "^        x^>        *^y 

[The  following  letter  was  written  to  the  American  Land  Com- 
missioner (later  Chief  Justice  for  a  term)  in  Samoa,  whose  younger 
daughter,  then  at  home  in  the  States,  had  been  born  on  a  Christmas 
Day,  and  consequently  regarded  herself  as  defrauded  of  her  natural 
rights  to  a  private  anniversary  of  her  own.  —  SIDNEY  COLVIN.] 

VAILIMA,  June  19,  1891 

"P\EAR  MR.  IDE,  —  Herewith  please  find  the  Docu- 
*-^  MENT,  which  I  trust  will  prove  sufficient  in  law. 
It  seems  to  me  very  attractive  in  its  eclecticism ;  Scots, 
English,  and  Roman  law  phrases  are  all  indifferently 

7 


The  Second   Post 

introduced,  and  a  quotation  from  the  works  of  Haynes 
Bayly  can  hardly  fail  to  attract  the  indulgence  of  the 
Bench.  —  Yours  very  truly, 

ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON 

I,  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  Advocate  of  the  Scots  Bar, 
author  of  The  Master  of  Ballantrae  and  Moral  Emblems, 
stuck  civil  engineer,  sole  owner  and  patentee  of  the 
Palace  and  Plantation  known  as  Vailima  in  the  island  of 
Upolu,  Samoa,  a  British  subject,  being  in  sound  mind, 
and  pretty  well,  I  thank  you,  in  body : 

In  consideration  that  Miss  Annie  H.  Ide,  daughter  of 
H.  C.  Ide,  the  town  of  Saint  Johnsbury,  in  the  county 
of  Caledonia,  in  the  state  of  Vermont,  United  States 
of  America,  was  born,  out  of  all  reason,  upon  Christmas 
Day,  and  is  therefore  out  of  all  justice  denied  the  con- 
solation and  profit  of  a  proper  birthday  ; 

And  considering  that  I,  the  said  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson,  have  attained  an  age  when  O,  we  never 
mention  it,  and  that  I  have  now  no  further  use  for  a 
birthday  of  any  description ; 

And  in  consideration  that  I  have  met  H.  C.  Ide,  the 
father  of  the  said  Annie  H.  Ide,  and  found  him  about  as 
white  a  land  commissioner  as  I  require : 

Have  transferred,  and  do  hereby  transfer,  to  the  said 
Annie  H.  Ide,  all  and  whole  my  rights  and  privileges  in 
the  thirteenth  day  of  November,  formerly  my  birthday, 
now,  hereby,  and  henceforth,  the  birthday  of  the  said 
Annie  H.  Ide,  to  have,  hold,  exercise,  and  enjoy  the 
same  in  the  customary  manner,  by  the  sporting  of  fine 
raiment,  eating  of  rich  meats,  and  receipt  of  gifts,  com- 
pliments, and  copies  of  verse,  according  to  the  manner 
of  our  ancestors ; 


From  Age  to  Youth 

And  I  direct  the  said  Annie  H.  Ide  to  add  to  the  said 
name  of  Annie  H.  Ide  the  name  Louisa  —  at  least  in 
private ;  and  I  charge  her  to  use  my  said  birthday  with 
moderation  and  humanity,  el  tamquam  bona  filia  familiae, 
the  said  birthday  not  being  so  young  as  it  once  was,  and 
having  carried  me  in  a  very  satisfactory  manner  since  I 
can  remember ; 

And  in  case  the  said  Annie  H.  Ide  shall  neglect  or 
contravene  either  of  the  above  conditions,  I  hereby 
revoke  the  donation  and  transfer  my  rights  in  the  said 
birthday  to  the  President  of  the  United  States  of 
America  for  the  time  being ; 

In  witness  whereof  I  have  hereto  set  my  hand  and 
seal  this  nineteenth  day  of  June  in  the  year  of  grace 
eighteen  hundred  and  ninety-one. 


ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON 
Witness,  Lloyd  Osbourne 
Witness,  Harold  Watts 

R.  L.  S.  sets  up  a  memory       <^y        "^        <^        <^y 

NEW  JERSEY,  May  27,  1888 
AR  HOMER  ST.  GAUDENS,  —  Your  father  has 
brought  you  this  day  to  see  me,  and  he  tells  me 
it  is  his  hope  you  may  remember  the  occasion.  I  am 
going  to  do  what  I  can  to  carry  out  his  wish;  and  it 
may  amuse  you,  years  after,  to  see  this  little  scrap  of 
paper  and  to  read  what  I  write.  I  must  begin  by  testi- 
fying that  you  yourself  took  no  interest  whatever  in  the 

9 


The    Second   Post 

introduction,  and  in  the  most  proper  spirit  displayed  a 
single-minded  ambition  to  get  back  to  play,  and  this 
I  thought  an  excellent  and  admirable  point  in  your 
character.  You  were  also  (I  use  the  past  tense,  with  a 
view  to  the  time  when  you  shall  read,  rather  than  to 
that  when  I  am  writing)  a  very  pretty  boy,  and  (to  my 
European  views)  startlingly  self-possessed.  My  time 
of  observation  was  so  limited  that  you  must  pardon  me 
if  I  can  say  no  more :  what  else  I  marked,  what  rest- 
lessness of  foot  and  hand,  what  graceful  clumsiness, 
what  experimental  designs  upon  the  furniture,  was  but 
the  common  inheritance  of  human  youth.  But  you  may 
perhaps  like  to  know  that  the  lean  flushed  man  in  bed, 
who  interested  you  so  little,  was  in  a  state  of  mind 
extremely  mingled  and  unpleasant :  harassed  with  work 
which  he  thought  he  was  not  doing  well,  troubled  with 
difficulties  to  which  you  will  in  time  succeed,  and  yet 
looking  forward  to  no  less  a  matter  than  a  voyage  to 
the  South  Seas  and  the  visitation  of  savage  and  desert 
islands.  —  Your  father's  friend, 

ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON 


William  Thomas,  Clerk  of  the  Council,  tenders  to 
Edward  the  Sixth  a  few  questions  the  answers 
to  which  are  useful  to  monarchs  -<s»  ^o  ^v 

nrO    THE     KINGS     HIGHNES,  —  Pleaseth     your 

•*•    excellent    Matie  albeit    that  my  grosse   knowledge 

be  utterly  unapte  to  entreprise  th'  Instruction  of  any 

thinge  unto  your  Highnes,  whose  erudicion  I  knowe  to 

be  suche  as  everie  faithfull  hert  ought  to  rejoise  at:   yet 

imagining  with  myself  that  hitherto  your  Majestie  hath 

10 


From  Age  to  Youth 

more  applied  the  studie  of  the  tonges  than  any  matter 
either  of  Historic  or  of  Policie,  (the  Holie  Scriptures 
excepted),  and  considering  that  (syns  your  Highnes  is  by 
the  providence  of  God  alreadie  growen  to  the  admynis- 
tracon  of  that  great  and  famous  chardge  that  hath  been 
flete  unto  yow  by  your  most  noble  Progenitors)  there  is 
no  earthlie  thinge  more  necessarie  than  the  knowledge 
of  such  examples  as  in  this  and  other  regiments  hereto- 
fore have  happened :  one  thought  of  my  bounden  dutie 
I  coulde  no  lesse  do  than  present  unto  your  Matle  the 
Notes  of  those  Discourses  that  nowe  my  principall  studie, 
which  I  have  gathered  out  of  divers  aucthors,  entending 
with  layssor  to  write  the  circumstances  of  those  reasons 
that  I  can  finde  to  make  most  for  the  purpose.  And 
bicause  there  is  nothing  better  learned  than  that  which 
man  laboureth  for  himself,  therefore  I  determined  at  this 
present  to  give  unto  your  Highnes  this  little  Abstracte 
only.  Trusting  that  lick  as  in  all  kinde  of  vertuouse 
Learning  and  Exercise  ye  have  alwaies  shewed  yourself 
most  diligent,  even  so  in  this  parte  which  concerneth  the 
chief  mayntenance  of  your  high  astate,  and  preservacion 
of  your  Common  Wealthe,  your  Majestic  woll  shewe  no 
lesse  industrie  than  the  matter  deserveth.  For,  though 
these  be  but  Questions :  yet  there  is  not  so  small  a  one 
emongest  them  as  woll  not  mynister  matter  of  much 
discourse  worthie  the  argument  and  debating;  which 
your  Highnes  may  either  for  passetyme  or  in  earnest 
propone  to  the  wisest  men.  And  whan  so  ever  there 
shall  appeare  any  difficultie  that  your  Majestic  wolde 
have  discussed,  if  it  shall  stande  with  your  pleasour 
I  shall  most  gladly  write  the  circumstance  of  the  best 
discourses  that  I  can  gather  tooching  that  parte,  and 
accordingly  present  it  unto  your  Highnes :  most  humbly 
ii 


The  Second   Post 

beseching  the  same  to  accepte  my  good  will  in  as  good 
parte  as  if  I  were  of  habilitie  to  offer  unto  yor  Matie  a 
more  worthy  thinge.  —  Yor  Mats  most  humble  servaunt, 

WILLIAM  THOMAS 

1.  Whereof  hath  growen  th'  aucthoritie  of  Astates,  and 
howe  many  kindes  of  Astates  there  be  ? 

2.  Which  of  all  Astates  is  most  commendable  and 
necessarie  ? 

3.  Wheather  a  moltitude  without  heade  may  prosper  ? 

4.  Wheather  is  wiser  and  more  constant,  the  Moltitude 
or  the  Prince  ? 

5.  Wheather  is  better  for  the  Commonweal  the  that  the 
power  be  in  the  Nobilitie  or  in  the  people  ? 

6.  Wheather  a  meane  Astate  may  beare  a  great  sub- 
ject ? 

7.  What  Lawes  arr  necessarie,  and  howe  they  ought 
to  be  mainteigned  ? 

8.  Howe  easilie  a  weak  Prince  with  good  ordre  may 
longe  be  mainteigned,  and  how  esone  a  mightie  Prince 
with  little  disordre  may  be  destroied  ? 

9.  What  causeth  an  inheritor  King  to  loose  his  Realme  ? 

10.  Wheather  Religion,  besids  the  honor  of  God,  be 
not  also  the  gretest  staie  of  Civile  ordre  ?  and  wheather 
the  Unitie  thereof  ought  not  to  be  preserved  with  the 
swearde  and  rigor  ? 

11.  Wheather  of  the  twoo  is  the  more  unkinde,  the 
People  or  the  Prince  ? 

12.  Howe  unkindenesse  may  be  eschewed? 

13.  What  is  th'  occasion  of  Conspiracies? 

14.  Wheather  the  People  commonly  desire  the  destruc- 
tion of  him  that  is  in  aucthoritie,  and  what  moveth  them 
so  to  do  ? 

12 


From  Age  to  Youth 


15.  What  a  man  of  authoritie  may  do  in  the  Mol- 
titude  ? 

16.  What  is  to  be  observed  in  chooseng  of  Officers? 

17.  Howe  flatterers  arr  to  be  knowen  and  despised? 

1 8.  Howe  mennes  opinions  in  great  matters  are  to  be 
pondered  ? 

19.  Wheather  in  Judgements  the  meane  waie  ought  to 
be  observed  ? 

20.  Wheather  a  man  of  aucthoritie  ought  to  contempne 
his  inferiors  ? 

21.  Howe  dangerouse  is  it  to  Icape  from  Humilitie  unto 
Pride,  and  from  Pride  to  Creweltie  ? 

22.  Wheather  men  may  easelie  be  corrupted? 

23.  Howe  much  good  mynisters  ought  to  be  rewarded 
and  the  evill  punished  ? 

24.  Howe  daungerouse  it  is  be  aucthor  of  a  newe 
matter  ? 

25.  Wheather  accusations  arr  necessarie,  and  wheather 
yll  reaportes  arr  condempnable  ? 

26.  Wheather  yll  Reaporte  lighteth  not  most  commonly 
on  the  Reaporter  ? 

27.  Wheather   ambitious    men,    mounting   from   one 
ambicion  to  an  other,  do  first  seeke  not  to  be  offended, 
and  afterwards  to  offende  ? 

28.  Wheather  it   be   daungerouse   to   make   him   an 
Officer  that  ones  hath  been  misused  ? 

29.  Wheather  they  be  not  often  deceaved  that  thinke 
with  humilitie  to  overcome  Pride  ? 

30.  What  force  the  Prince's  example  hath  emongest 
the  Subjectes  ? 

31.  Howe  a  Prince  ought  to  governe  himself  to  attaigne 
reputacion  ? 

32.  What  thinges  deserve  either  praise  or  reproache? 

13 


The  Second   Post 

33.  What  is  Liberalitie  and  Miserie? 

34.  What  is  Creweltie  and  Clemencie  ? 

35.  Wheather     Hate    and     Dispraise  ought     to    be 
eschewed  ? 

36.  What  is  Fortune  ? 

37.  Howe  men  be  oftentimes  blinded  with  fortune  ? 

38.  Wheather    it    be    not    necessarie    for    him    that 
woll  have  contynuall  good  fortune,  to  varie  with  the 
tyme? 

39.  What  Prince's  amytie  is  good  ? 

40.  Wheather  a  puissant  Prince  ought  to  purchase 
amitie  with  money  ?  or  with  vertue  and  stowtenes  ? 

41.  What  trust  ought  to  be  had  in  Leages  ? 

42.  What  is  the  cause  of  Warre  ? 

43.  Howe  many  kindes  of  Warre  there  be? 

44.  Howe  many  kindes  of  Souldeors  ? 

45.  Wheather  they  that  fight  for  their  owne  glorie  arr 
good  and  faithf ull  souldeors  ? 

46.  Why  do  men  overreune  straunge  countreys  ? 

47.  Howe  shulde  a  Prince  measure  his  force,  and  howe 
rule  himself  in  warre  ? 

48.  Wheather  a  manifest  warre  towards,  ought  to  be 
begoune  upon  th'  ennemye,  or  abbiden  till  th'  ennemye 
beginne  ? 

49.  Wheather  is  it  better  to  assaulte  or  to  defende  ? 

50.  Wheather  money  be  the  substaunce  of  warre  or 
not? 

51.  Wheather  weake  Astates  arr  ever  doubtfull   in 
determyneng,    and    wheather    much    deliberacion    doth 
rather  hurte  than  helpe  ? 

52.  Wheather  is  greater  in  Conquest,  vertue  or  fortune  ? 

53.  Wheather  prevaileth  more  in  fortune,   Policie  or 
Force  ? 

14 


From  Age  to  Youth 

54.  What  is  Policie  in  warre  ? 

55.  Wheather    Conquests    arr     not    sometime    more 
noysome  than  proffitable  ? 

56.  Wheather  it  be  wisedome  to  adventure  much  ? 

57.  What  meanes  ought  to  be  used  in  defence  ? 

58.  Wheather  the  Countrey  ought  not  alwaies  to  be 
defended,  the  quarell  being  right  or  wronge  ? 

59.  Wheather  inconveniences  ought  rather  to  be  quali- 
fied and  overcome  with  layssour,  or  at  the  first  plainely 
repressed  ? 

60.  What  daungur  is  it  to  a  Prince  not  to  be  avenged 
of  an  open  Injurie  ? 

61.  What  discommoditie  is  it  to  a  Prince  to  lacke 
Armure  ? 

62.  Howe  much  ought  Artillerie  to  be  esteemed? 

63.  Wheather  ought  more  to  be  esteemed,  Footemen 
or  Horsemen  ? 

64.  Wheather  it  be  not  daungerouse  to  be  served  of 
straunge  souldeors  ? 

65.  Wheather  is  an  Armie  better  governed  of  one 
absolute  head,  or  of  divers  ? 

66.  What  ought  the  Generall  of  an  Armie  to  be  ? 

67.  Wheather  is  more  to  be  esteemed  a  good  Captaine 
with  a  weake  Armye,  or  a  stronge  Armye  with  a  weak 
Captaine  ? 

68.  Wheather  it  be  necessarie  that  generall  Captaines 
have  large  commissions  ? 

69.  What  advantage  is  it   to  foresee  the  ennemyes 
purpose  ? 

70.  Wheather  a  Captaine  in  the  fielde  may  forsake  the 
feight  if  his  ennemye  woll  nedes  feight  ? 

71.  What  it  is  to  be  quick  of  Invention  in  the  time  of 
battaill  ? 

IS 


The  Second   Post 

72.  What  sufferaunce  and  tyme  is  in  Feight. 

73.  Wheather  it  be  necessarie  to  assure  th'  armie  before 
the  feight  ? 

74.  Wheather  it  be  not  necessarie  sometime  to  feigne 
folie? 

75.  Howe  to  beware  of  crafte,  when  th'  ennemie  seem- 
eth  to  have  committed  a  folie  ? 

76.  What  advauntage  it  is  for  a  Captaine  to  knowe  his 
grounde  ? 

77.  Wheather  Sky rmisshes  be  good  ? 

78.  Wheather  Fortresses  arr  not  many  times  more 
noysome  than  proffitable  ? 

79.  Wheather  an  excellent  man  doth  alter  his  cowraige 
for  any  adversitie  ? 

80.  Wheather  Prince  ought  to  be  contented  with  reson- 
able  victories  ?  and  so  to  leave  ? 

81.  Wheather   Furie   and   Braverie   be   many    times 
necessarie  to  obteigne  purposes  ? 

82.  Wheather  promises  made  by  force  ought  to  be 
observed  ? 

83.  Wheather  it  becommeth  not  a  Prince  to  pretende 
liberalitie  when  necessitie  constreigneth  him  to  depart 
with  thinges. 

84.  What  is  vertue,  and  when  is  it  most  esteemed  ? 

85.  What  destroieth  the  memorie  of  things? 

It  becometh  a  Prince  for  his  wisdome  to  be  had  in 
admiracion  as  well  of  his  chiefest  Counsaillors  as  of  his 
other  subjects;  and  syns  nothing  serveth  more  to  that 
than  to  kepe  the  principall  things  of  wisedome  secrett 
till  occasion  require  the  utterance,  I  wolde  wishe  them 
to  be  kept  secret ;  referring  it  neverthelesse  to  your 
Majesties  good  will  and  pleasor. 

16 


II 

THE  TRAVELLERS 

Shelley  describes  his  life  at  Leghorn     *v>        "^        "O 

LIVORNO,  August  (22  ?)  1819 

TV/T Y  DEAR  PEACOCK,  —  I  ought  first  to  say  that  I 
•L'A  have  not  yet  received  one  of  your  letters  from 
Naples;  in  Italy  such  things  are  difficult,  but  your 
present  letter  tells  me  all  that  I  could  desire  to  hear 
of  your  situation. 

My  employments  are  these:  I  awaken  usually  at 
seven ;  read  half-an-hour ;  then  get  up ;  breakfast ; 
after  breakfast  ascend  my  tower,  and  read  or  write  until 
two.  Then  we  dine.  After  dinner  I  read  Dante  with 
Mary,  gossip  a  little,  eat  grapes  and  figs,  sometimes 
walk,  though  seldom,  and  at  half-past  five  pay  a  visit  to 
Mrs.  Gisborne,  who  reads  Spanish  with  me  until  near 
seven.  We  then  come  for  Mary,  and  stroll  about  till 
supper  time.  Mrs.  Gisborne  is  a  sufficiently  amiable 
and  very  accomplished  woman  ;  she  is  Srj/xoKpaTiKT/  and 
aOti]  —  how  far  she  may  be  <$>iXa.v9p<j)ir-r)  I  don't  know,  for 
she  is  the  antipodes  of  enthusiasm.  His  (sic)  husband, 
a  man  with  little  thin  lips,  receding  forehead,  and  a 
prodigious  nose,  is  an  excessive  bore.  His  nose  is 
sometimes  quite  Slawkenbergian  —  it  weighs  on  the 
C  17 


The  Second   Post 

imagination  to  look  at  it.  It  is  that  sort  of  nose  which 
transforms  all  the  g's  its  wearer  utters  into  k's.  It  is  a 
nose  once  seen  never  to  be  forgotten,  and  which  requires 
the  utmost  stretch  of  Christian  charity  to  forgive.  I, 
you  know,  have  a  little  turn-up  nose ;  Hogg  has  a  large 
hook  one;  but  add  them  both  together,  square  them, 
cube  them,  you  would  have  but  a  faint  idea  of  the  nose 
to  which  I  refer. 

I  most  devoutly  wish  I  were  living  near  London.  I 
do  not  think  I  shall  settle  so  far  off  as  Richmond;  and 
to  inhabit  any  intermediate  spot  on  the  Thames  would 
be  to  expose  myself  to  the  river  damps ;  not  to  mention 
that  it  is  not  much  to  my  taste.  My  inclinations  point 
to  Hampstead;  but  I  do  not  know  whether  I  should 
not  make  up  my  mind  to  something  more  completely 
suburban.  What  are  mountains,  trees,  heaths,  or  even 
the  glorious  and  ever-beautiful  sky,  with  such  sunsets  as 
I  have  seen  at  Hampstead,  to  friends  ?  Social  enjoy- 
ment, in  some  form  or  other,  is  the  alpha  and  omega  of 
existence.  All  that  I  see  in  Italy  —  and  from  my  tower 
window  I  now  see  the  magnificent  peaks  of  the  Apennines 
half  enclosing  the  plain  —  is  nothing ;  it  dwindles  into 
smoke  in  the  mind,  when  I  think  of  some  familiar  forms 
of  scenery,  little  perhaps  in  themselves,  over  which  old 
remembrances  have  thrown  a  delightful  colour.  How  we 
prize  what  we  despised  when  present !  So  the  ghosts  of 
our  dead  associations  rise  and  haunt  us,  in  revenge  for 
our  having  let  them  starve,  and  abandoned  them  to 
perish. 

You  don't  tell  me  if  you  see  the  Boinvilles;  nor  are 
they  included  in  the  list  of  the  conviti  at  the  monthly 
symposium.  I  will  attend  it  in  imagination. 

One  thing,  I  own,  I  am  curious  about;  and  in  the 
18 


The  Travellers 

chance  of  the  letters  not  coming  from  Naples,  pray  tell 
me.  What  is  it  you  do  at  the  India  House?  Hunt 
writes,  and  says  you  have  got  a  situation  in  the  India 
House:  Hogg  that  you  have  an  honourable  employment: 
Godwin  writes  to  Mary  that  you  have  got  so  much  or  so 
much:  but  nothing  of  what  you  do.  The  devil  take 
these  general  terms.  Not  content  with  having  driven  all 
poetry  out  of  the  world,  at  length  they  make  war  on 
their  own  allies ;  nay,  on  their  very  parents,  dry  facts. 
If  it  had  not  been  the  age  of  generalities,  any  one  of 
these  people  would  have  told  me  what  you  did. 

I  have  been  much  better  these  last  three  weeks.  My 
work  on  the  "  Cenci,"  which  was  done  in  two  months, 
was  a  fine  antidote  to  nervous  medicines,  and  kept  up, 
I  think,  the  pain  in  my  side,  as  sticks  do  a  fire.  Since 
then,  I  have  materially  improved.  I  do  not  walk  enough. 
Clare,  who  is  sometimes  my  companion,  does  not  dress 
in  exactly  the  right  time.  I  have  no  stimulus  to  walk. 
Now,  I  go  sometimes  to  Livorno  on  business ;  and  that 
does  me  good. 

I  have  been  reading  Calderon  in  Spanish.  A  kind  of 
Shakespeare  is  this  Calderon ;  and  I  have  some  thoughts 
if  I  find  that  I  cannot  do  anything  better,  of  translating 
some  of  his  plays. 

The  Examiners  I  receive.  Hunt,  as  a  political  writer, 
pleases  me  more  and  more.  Adieu.  Mary  and  Clare 
send  their  best  remembrances.  —  Your  most  faithful 
friend,  P.  B.  SHELLEY 

Pray  send  me  some  books,  and  Clare  would  take  it  as 
a  great  favour  if  you  would  send  her  music  books. 


The  Second   Post 

Shelley    numbers    the    inhabitants    of    Lord     Byron's 
menagerie  <^>-        *o        ^>        ^>        x^ 

RAVENNA,  August  1821 

MY  DEAR  PEACOCK,  —  I  received  your  last  letter 
just  as  I  was  setting  off  from  the  Bagni  on  a  visit 
to  Lord  Byron  at  this  place.  Many  thanks  for  all  your 
kind  attention  to  my  accursed  affairs.  I  am  happy  to 
tell  you  that  my  income  is  satisfactorily  arranged, 
although  Horace  Smith  having  received  it,  and  being 
still  on  his  slow  journey  through  France,  I  cannot  send 
you,  as  I  wished  to  have  done,  the  amount  of  my  debt 
immediately,  but  must  defer  it  till  I  see  him  or  till  my 
September  quarter,  which  is  now  very  near.  I  am  very 
much  obliged  to  you  for  your  way  of  talking  about  it  — 
but  of  course,  if  I  cannot  do  you  any  good,  I  will  not 
permit  you  to  be  a  sufferer  by  me. 

I  have  sent  by  the  Gisbornes  a  copy  of  the  Elegy  on 
Keats.  The  subject,  I  know,  will  not  please  you ;  but 
the  composition  of  the  poetry,  and  the  taste  in  which  it 
is  written,  I  do  not  think  bad.  You  and  the  enlightened 
public  will  judge.  Lord  Byron  is  in  excellent  cue  both 
of  health  and  spirits.  He  has  got  rid  of  all  those 
melancholy  and  degrading  habits  which  he  indulged 
at  Venice.  He  lives  with  one  woman,  a  lady  of  rank 
here,  to  whom  he  is  attached,  and  who  is  attached  to 
him,  and  is  in  every  respect  an  altered  man.  He  has 
written  three  more  cantos  of  "  Don  Juan."  I  have  yet 
only  heard  the  fifth,  and  I  think  that  every  word  of  it 
is  pregnant  with  immortality.  I  have  not  seen  his  late 
plays,  except  "Marino  Falieri,"  which  is  very  well,  but 
not  so  transcendently  fine  as  the  "Don  Juan."  Lord 
20 


The  Travellers 

Byron  gets  up  at  two  I  get  up,  quite  contrary  to  my 
usual  custom,  but  one  must  sleep  or  die,  like  Southey's 
sea-snake  in  "Kehama,"  at  12.  After  breakfast  we  sit 
talking  till  six.  From  six  till  eight  we  gallop  through 
the  pine  forests  which  divide  Ravenna  from  the  sea ;  we 
then  come  home  and  dine,  and  sit  up  gossiping  till  six 
in  the  morning.  I  don't  suppose  this  will  kill  me  in  a 
week  or  fortnight,  but  I  shall  not  try  it  longer.  Lord 
B.'s  establishment  consists,  besides  servants,  of  ten 
horses,  eight  enormous  dogs,  three  monkeys,  five  cats, 
an  eagle,  a  crow,  and  a  falcon ;  and  all  these,  except  the 
horses,  walk  about  the  house,  which  every  now  and  then 
resounds  with  their  unarbitrated  quarrels,  as  if  they 
were  the  masters  of  it.  Lord  B.  thinks  you  wrote  a 
pamphlet  signed  "John  Bull";  he  says  he  knew  it  by 
the  style  resembling  "  Melincourt,"  of  which  he  is  a  great 
admirer.  I  read  it,  and  assured  him  that  it  could  not 
possibly  be  yours.  I  write  nothing,  and  probably  shall 
write  no  more.  It  offends  me  to  see  my  name  classed 
among  those  who  have  no  name.  If  I  cannot  be  some- 
thing better,  I  had  rather  be  nothing,  and  the  accursed 
cause,  to  the  downfall  of  which  I  dedicate  what  powers 
I  may  have  had,  flourishes  like  a  cedar  and  covers 
England  with  its  boughs.  My  motive  was  never  the 
infirm  desire  of  fame ;  and  if  I  should  continue  an 
author,  I  feel  that  I  should  desire  it.  This  cup  is  justly 
given  to  one  only  of  an  age ;  indeed,  participation  would 
make  it  worthless :  and  unfortunate  they  who  seek  it 
and  find  it  not. 

I  congratulate  you  —  I  hope  I  ought  to  do  so  —  on  your 
expected  stranger.  He  is  introduced  into  a  rough  world. 
My  regards  to  Hogg,  and  Co[u]lson  if  you  see  him.  —  Ever 
most  faithfully  yours,  P.  B.  S. 

21 


The  Second   Post 

After  I  have  sealed  my  letter,  I  find  that  my  enumera- 
tion of  the  animals  in  this  Circean  Palace  was  defective, 
and  that  in  a  material  point.  I  have  just  met  on  the 
grand  staircase  five  peacocks,  two  guinea  hens,  and  an 
Egyptian  crane.  I  wonder  who  all  these  animals  were 
before  they  were  changed  into  these  shapes. 

Charles   Dickens   sends   an  American   the   news   from 
America    -^         -^         ^o         ^c^         <^>-         -<^> 

FULLER'S  HOTEL,  WASHINGTON 

Monday,  March  14,  1842 

MY  DEAR  FELTON,  —  I  was  more  delighted  than 
I  can  possibly  tell  you,  to  receive  (last  Saturday 
night)  your  welcome  letter.  We  and  the  oysters  missed 
you  terribly  in  New  York.  You  carried  away  with  you 
more  than  half  the  delight  and  pleasure  of  my  New 
World ;  and  I  heartily  wish  you  could  bring  it  back 
again. 

There  are  very  interesting  men  in  this  place  —  highly 
interesting,  of  course  —  but  it's  not  a  comfortable  place ; 
is  it  ?  If  spittle  could  wait  at  table  we  should  be  nobly 
attended,  but  as  that  property  has  not  been  imparted  to 
it  in  the  present  state  of  mechanical  science,  we  are 
rather  lonely  and  orphan-like,  in  respect  of  "being  looked 
arter."  A  blithe  black  was  introduced  on  our  arrival,  as 
our  peculiar  and  especial  attendant.  He  is  the  only 
gentleman  in  the  town  who  has  a  peculiar  delicacy  in 
intruding  upon  my  valuable  time.  It  usually  takes  seven 
rings  and  a  threatening  message  from  —  —  to  produce 
him;  and  when  he  comes,  he  goes  to  fetch  some- 
thing, and,  forgetting  it  by  the  way,  comes  back  no 
more. 

22 


The  Travellers 

We  have  been  in  great  distress,  really  in  distress,  at 
the  non-arrival  of  the  Caledonia.  You  may  conceive 
what  our  joy  was,  when,  while  we  were  out  dining  yester- 
day, Putnam  arrived  with  the  joyful  intelligence  of  her 
safety.  The  very  news  of  her  having  really  arrived 
seemed  to  diminish  the  distance  between  ourselves  and 
home,  by  one  half  at  least. 

And  this  morning  (though  we  have  not  yet  received 
our  heap  of  despatches,  for  which  we  are  looking  eagerly 
forward  to  this  night's  mail)  —  this  morning  there  reached 
us  unexpectedly,  through  the  Government  bag  (Heaven 
knows  how  they  came  there  !),  two  of  our  many  and  long- 
looked-for  letters,  wherein  was  a  circumstantial  account 
of  the  whole  conduct  and  behaviour  of  our  pets ;  with 
marvellous  relations  of  Charley's  precocity  at  a  Twelfth 
Night  juvenile  party  at  Macready's ;  and  tremendous 
predictions  of  the  governess,  dimly  suggesting  his  having 
got  out  of  pot-hooks  and  hangers,  and  darkly  insinuating 
the  possibility  of  his  writing  us  a  letter  before  long ;  and 
many  other  workings  of  the  same  prophetic  spirit,  in 
reference  to  him  and  his  sisters,  very  gladdening  to  their 
mother's  heart,  and  not  at  all  depressing  to  their  father's. 
There  was,  also,  the  doctor's  report,  which  was  a  clean 
bill ;  and  the  nurse's  report,  which  was  perfectly  electri- 
fying ;  showing  as  it  did  how  Master  Walter  had  been 
weaned,  and  had  cut  a  double  tooth,  and  done  many 
other  extraordinary  things,  quite  worthy  of  his  high 
descent.  In  short,  we  were  made  very  happy  and  grate- 
ful; and  felt  as  if  the  prodigal  father  and  mother  had 
got  home  again. 

What  do  you  think  of  this  incendiary  card  being  left 
at  my  door  last  night?  "General  G.  sends  compliments 
to  Mr.  Dickens,  and  called  with  two  literary  ladies.  As 

23 


The  Second   Post 

the  two  L.L.'s  are  ambitious  of  the  honour  of  a  personal 
introduction  to  Mr.  D.,  General  G.  requests  the  honour 
of  an  appointment  for  to-morrow."  I  draw  a  veil  over 
my  sufferings.  They  are  sacred.  We  shall  be  in  Buffalo, 
please  Heaven,  on  the  thirtieth  of  April.  If  I  don't  find 
a  letter  from  you  in  the  care  of  the  postmaster  at  that 
place,  I'll  never  write  to  you  from  England. 

But  if  I  do  find  one,  my  right  hand  shall  forget  its 
cunning  before  I  forget  to  be  your  truthful  and  constant 
correspondent ;  not,  dear  Felton,  because  I  promised  it, 
nor  because  I  have  a  natural  tendency  to  correspond 
(which  is  far  from  being  the  case) ,  nor  because  I  am  truly 
grateful  to  you  for,  and  have  been  made  truly  proud 

by,  that  affectionate  and  elegant  tribute  which sent 

me,  but  because  you  are  a  man  after  my  own  heart,  and 
I  love  you  well.  And  for  the  love  I  bear  you,  and  the 
pleasure  with  which  I  shall  always  think  of  you,  and  the 
glow  I  shall  feel  when  I  see  your  handwriting  in  my  own 
home,  I  hereby  enter  into  a  solemn  league  and  covenant 
to  write  as  many  letters  to  you  as  you  write  to  me,  at 
least.  Amen. 

Come  to  England  !  Come  to  England  !  Our  oysters 
are  small,  I  know ;  they  are  said  by  Americans  to  be 
coppery  ;  but  our  hearts  are  of  the  largest  size.  We  are 
thought  to  excel  in  shrimps,  to  be  far  from  despicable  in 
point  of  lobsters,  and  in  periwinkles  are  considered  to 
challenge  the  universe.  Our  oysters,  small  though  they 
be,  are  not  devoid  of  the  refreshing  influence  which  that 
species  of  fish  is  supposed  to  exercise  in  these  latitudes. 
Try  them  and  compare.  —  Affectionately  yours, 

CHARLES  DICKENS 


The  Travellers 


R.  L.  S.  in  San  Francisco         xo        ^>        *^y        <ix 

January  10,  1880 

MY  DEAR  COLVIN,  —  This  is  a  circular  letter  to 
tell  my  estate  fully.  You  have  no  right  to  it, 
being  the  worst  of  correspondents;  but  I  wish  to  efface 
the  impression  of  my  last,  so  to  you  it  goes. 

Any  time  between  eight  and  half-past  nine  in  the 
morning,  a  slender  gentleman  in  an  ulster,  with  a  volume 
buttoned  into  the  breast  of  it,  may  be  observed  leaving 
No.  608  Bush  and  descending  Powell  with  an  active  step. 
The  gentleman  is  R.  L.  S. ;  the  volume  relates  to 
Benjamin  Franklin,  on  whom  he  meditates  one  of  his 
charming  essays.  He  descends  Powell,  crosses  Market, 
and  descends  in  Sixth  on  a  branch  of  the  original  Pine 
Street  Coffee  House,  no  less ;  I  believe  he  would  be 
capable  of  going  to  the  original  itself,  if  he  could  only 
find  it.  In  the  branch  he  seats  himself  at  a  table  covered 
with  waxcloth,  and  a  pampered  menial,  of  High-Dutch 
extraction  and,  indeed,  as  yet  only  partially  extracted, 
lays  before  him  a  cup  of  coffee,  a  roll  and  a  pat  of  butter, 
all,  to  quote  the  deity,  very  good.  A  while  ago,  and 
R.  L.  S.  used  to  find  the  supply  of  butter  insufficient ;  but 
he  has  now  learned  the  art  to  exactitude,  and  butter  and 
roll  expire  at  the  same  moment.  For  this  refection  he 
pays  ten  cents,  or  five  pence  sterling  (£o,  os.  sd.). 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  inhabitants  of  Bush  Street 
observe  the  same  slender  gentleman  armed,  like  George 
Washington,  with  his  little  hatchet,  splitting,  kindling, 
and  breaking  coal  for  his  fire.  He  does  this  quasi- 
publicly  upon  the  window-sill ;  but  this  is  not  to  be 
attributed  to  any  love  of  notoriety,  though  he  is  indeed 

25 


The  Second   Post 

vain  of  his  prowess  with  the  hatchet  (which  he  persists 
in  calling  an  axe),  and  daily  surprised  at  the  perpetuation 
of  his  fingers.  The  reason  is  this:  that  the  sill  is  a 
strong,  supporting  beam,  and  that  blows  of  the  same 
emphasis  in  other  parts  of  his  room  might  knock  the 
entire  shanty  into  hell.  Thenceforth,  for  from  three  to 
four  hours,  he  is  engaged  darkly  with  an  inkbottle.  Yet 
he  is  not  blacking  his  boots,  for  the  only  pair  that  he 
possesses  are  innocent  of  lustre  an-d  wear  the  natural  hue 
of  the  material  turned  up  with  caked  and  venerable  slush. 
The  youngest  child  of  his  landlady  remarks  several  times 
a  day,  as  this  strange  occupant  enters  or  quits  the  house, 
"Dere's  de  author."  Can  it  be  that  this  bright-haired 
innocent  has  found  the  true  clue  to  the  mystery  ?  The 
being  in  question  is,  at  least,  poor  enough  to  belong  to 
that  honourable  craft. 

His  next  appearance  is  at  the  restaurant  of  one 
Donadieu,  in  Bush  Street,  between  Dupont  and  Kearney, 
where  a  copious  meal,  half  a  bottle  of  wine,  coffee  and 
brandy  may  be  procured  for  the  sum  of  four  bits,  alias 
fifty  cents,  £o,  23.  2d.  sterling.  The  wine  is  put  down  in 
a  whole  bottleful,  and  it  is  strange  and  painful  to  observe 
the  greed  with  which  the  gentleman  in  question  seeks  to 
secure  the  last  drop  of  his  allotted  half,  and  the  scrupu- 
lousness with  which  he  seeks  to  avoid  taking  the  first 
drop  of  the  other.  This  is  partly  explained  by  the  fact 
that  if  he  were  to  go  over  the  mark  —  bang  would  go  a 
ten-pence.  He  is  again  armed  with  a  book,  but  his  best 
friends  will  learn  with  pain  that  he  seems  at  this  hour  to 
have  deserted  the  more  serious  studies  of  the  morning. 
When  last  observed,  he  was  studying  with  apparent  zest 
the  exploits  of  one  Rocambole  by  the  late  Viscomte 
Ponson  du  Terrail.  This  work,  originally  of  prodigious 
26 


The  Travellers 

dimensions,  he  had  cut  into  liths  or  thicknesses  apparently 
for  convenience  of  carriage. 

Then  the  being  walks,  where  is  not  certain.  But  by 
half-past  four,  a  light  beams  from  the  windows  of  608 
Bush,  and  he  may  be  observed  sometimes  engaged  in 
correspondence,  sometimes  once  again  plunged  in  the 
mysterious  rites  of  the  forenoon.  About  six  he  returns  to 
the  Branch  Original,  where  he  once  more  imbrues  himself 
to  the  worth  of  fivepence  in  coffee  and  roll.  The  evening 
is  devoted  to  writing  and  reading,  and  by  eleven  or  half- 
past  darkness  closes  over  this  weird  and  truculent' 
existence. 

As  for  coin,  you  see  I  don't  spend  much,  only  you  and 
Henley  both  seem  to  think  my  work  rather  bosh  nowa- 
days, and  I  do  want  to  make  as  much  as  I  was  making, 
that  is  £20x3 ;  if  I  can  do  that,  I  can  swim :  last  year, 
with  my  ill  health  I  touched  only  £109  ;  that  would  not  do, 
I  could  not  fight  it  through  on  that ;  but  on  £200,  as  I  say, 
I  am  good  for  the  world,  and  can  even  in  this  quiet  way 
save  a  little,  and  that  I  must  do.  The  worst  is  my  health ; 
it  is  suspected  I  had  an  ague  chill  yesterday ;  I  shall 
know  by  to-morrow,  and  you  know  if  I  am  to  be  laid 
down  with  ague  the  game  is  pretty  well  lost.  But  I 
don't  know;  I  managed  to  write  a  good  deal  down  in 
Monterey,  when  I  was  pretty  sickly  most  of  the  time,  and 
by  God,  I'll  try,  ague  and  all.  I  have  to  ask  you  frankly, 
when  you  write,  to  give  me  any  good  news  you  can,  and, 
chat  a  little,  but  just  in  the  meantime,  give  me  no  bad. 
If  I  could  get  Thoreau,  Emigrant  and  Vendetta  all 
finished  and  out  of  my  hand,  I  should  feel  like  a  man  who 
had  made  half  a  year's  income  in  a  half  year ;  but  until 
the  last  two  are  finished,  you  see,  they  don't  fairly 
count. 

27 


The  Second   Post 

I  am  afraid  I  bore  you  sadly  with  this  perpetual  talk 
about  my  affairs  ;  I  will  try  and  stow  it ;  but  you  see,  it 
touches  me  nearly.  I'm  the  miser  in  earnest  now  :  last 
night,  when  I  felt  so  ill,  the  supposed  ague  chill,  it 
seemed  strange  not  to  be  able  to  afford  a  drink.  I  would 
have  walked  half  a  mile,  tired  as  I  felt,  for  a  brandy  and 
soda.  —  Ever  yours,  R.  L.  S. 


R.  L.  S.  fixes  his  ambition        *Cv        -c^y        *o        ^y 
(To  R.  A.  M.  Stevenson) 

SARANAC  LAKE,  ADIRONDACKS 
October  1887 

MY  DEAR  BOB,  — The  cold  [of  Colorado]  was  too 
rigorous  for  me ;  I  could  not  risk  the  long  railway 
voyage,  and  the  season  was  too  late  to  risk  the  Eastern, 
Cape  Hatteras  side  of  the  steamer  one ;  so  here  we  stuck 
and  stick.  We  have  a  wooden  house  on  a  hill-top,  over- 
looking a  river,  and  a  village  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away,  and  very  wooded  hills;  the  whole  scene  is  very 
Highland,  bar  want  of  heather  and  the  wooden  houses. 

I  have  got  one  good  thing  of  my  sea  voyage :  it  is 
proved  the  sea  agrees  heartily  with  me,  and  my  mother 
likes  it;  so  if  I  get  any  better,  or  no  worse,  my  mother 
will  likely  hire  a  yacht  for  a  month  or  so  in  summer. 
Good  Lord  !  What  fun  !  Wealth  is  only  useful  for  two 
things :  a  yacht  and  a  string  quartette.  For  these  two 
I  will  sell  my  soul.  Except  for  these  I  hold  that  £700  a 
year  is  as  much  as  anybody  can  possibly  want ;  and  I 
have  had  more,  so  I  know,  for  the  extry  coins  were  of  no 
use,  excepting  for  illness,  which  damns  everything. 
28 


The  Travellers 

I  was  so  happy  on  board  that  ship,  I  could  not  have 
believed  it  possible.  We  had  the  beastliest  weather,  and 
many  discomforts ;  but  the  mere  fact  of  its  being  a 
tramp-ship  gave  us  many  comforts ;  we  could  cut  about 
with  the  men  and  officers,  stay  in  the  wheel-house,  discuss 
all  manner  of  things,  and  really  be  a  little  at  sea.  And 
truly  there  is  nothing  else.  I  had  literally  forgotten  what 
happiness  was,  and  the  full  mind  —  full  of  external  and 
physical  things,  not  full  of  cares  and  labours  and  rot 
about  a  fellow's  behaviour.  My  heart  literally  sang ;  I 
truly  care  for  nothing  so  much  as  for  that.  We  took  so 
north  a  course,  that  we  saw  Newfoundland ;  no  one  in  the 
ship  had  ever  seen  it  before. 

It  was  beyond  belief  to  me  how  she  rolled ;  in 
seemingly  smooth  water,  the  bell  striking,  the  fittings 
bounding  out  of  our  state  room.  It  is  worth  having  lived 
these  last  years,  partly  because  I  have  written  some 
better  books,  which  is  always  pleasant,  but  chiefly  to  have 
had  the  joy  of  this  voyage.  I  have  been  made  a  lot  of 
here,  and  it  is  sometimes  pleasant,  sometimes  the  reverse ; 
but  I  could  give  it  all  up,  and  agree  that  —  —  was  the 
author  of  my  works,  for  a  good  seventy  ton  schooner  and 
the  coins  to  keep  her  on.  And  to  think  there  are  parties 
with  yachts  who  would  make  the  exchange !  I  know  a 
little  about  fame  now ;  it  is  no  good  compared  to  a  yacht ; 
and  anyway  there  is  more  fame  in  a  yacht,  more  genuine 
fame ;  to  cross  the  Atlantic  and  come  to  anchor  in 
Newport  (say)  with  the  Union  Jack,  and  go  ashore  for 
your  letters  and  hang  about  the  pier,  among  the  holiday 
yachtsmen  —  that's  fame,  that's  glory,  and  nobody  can 
take  it  away ;  they  can't  say  your  book  is  bad  ;  you  have 
crossed  the  Atlantic.  I  should  do  it  south  by  the  West 
Indies,  to  avoid  the  damned  Banks ;  and  probab  y  come 

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home  by  steamer,  and  leave  the  skipper  to  bring  the 
yacht  home. 

Well,  if  all  goes  well,  we  shall  maybe  sail  out  of 
Southampton  water  some  of  these  days  and  take  a  run 
to  Havre,  and  try  the  Baltic  or  somewhere. 

Love  to  all.  —  Ever  your  aff t. 

»       ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON 


Ill 

ADONAIS  GARRULOUS  / 

I 
(To  John  Hamilton  Reynolds) 

CARISBROOKE,  April  17,  1817 

MY  DEAR  REYNOLDS,  —  Ever  since  I  wrote  to 
my  brothers  from  Southampton,  I  have  been  in 
a  taking,  and  at  this  moment  I  am  about  to  become 
settled,  for  I  have  unpacked  my  books,  put  them  into  a 
snug  corner,  pinned  up  Haydon,  Mary  Queen  of  Scots, 
and  Milton  with  his  daughters  in  a  row.  In  the  passage 
I  found  a  head  of  Shakspeare,  which  I  had  not  before 
seen.  It  is  most  likely  the  same  that  George  spoke  so 
well  of,  for  I  like  it  extremely.  Well  —  this  head  I  have 
hung  over  my  books,  just  above  the  three  in  a  row, 
having  first  discarded  a  French  Ambassador :  now  this 
alone  is  a  good  morning's  work.  Yesterday  I  went  to 
Shanklin,  which  occasioned  a  great  debate  in  my  mind 
whether  I  should  live  there  or  at  Carisbrooke.  Shanklin 
is  a  most  beautiful  place ;  sloping  wood  and  meadow 
ground  reach  round  the  Chine,  which  is  a  cleft  between 
the  Cliffs  of  the  depth  of  nearly  300  feet  at  least.  This 
cleft  is  filled  with  trees  and  bushes  in  the  narrow  part, 


The  Second   Post 

and  as  it  widens  becomes  bare,  if  it  were  not  for  prim- 
roses on  one  side,  which  spread  to  the  very  verge  of  the 
Sea,  and  some  fishermen's  huts  on  the  other,  perched 
midway  in  the  Balustrades  of  beautiful  green  Hedges 
along  their  steps  down  to  the  sands.  But  the  sea,  Jack, 
the  sea  —  the  little  waterfall  —  then  the  white  cliff  —  then 
St.  Catherine's  Hill  —  "  the  sheep  in  the  meadows,  the 
cows  in  the  corn." 

Then,  why  are  you  at  Carisbrooke  ?  say  you.  Because, 
in  the  first  place,  I  should  be  at  twice  the  Expense,  and 
three  times  the  inconvenience  —  next  that  from  here  I  can 
see  your  continent  from  a  little  hill  close  by,  the  whole 
north  Angle  of  the  Isle  of  Wight,  with  the  water  between 
us.  In  the  third  place,  I  see  Carisbrooke  Castle  from 
my  window,  and  have  found  several  delightful  wood- 
alleys,  and  copses,  and  quick  freshes.  As  for  primroses, 
the  Island  ought  to  be  called  Primrose  Island  —  that  is, 
if  the  nation  of  Cowslips  agree  thereto,  of  which  there  are 
divers  Clans  just  beginning  to  lift  up  their  heads. 
Another  reason  of  my  fixing  is,  that  I  am  more  in  reach 
of  the  places  around  me.  I  intend  to  walk  over  the 
Island  East  —  West  —  North  —  South.  I  have  not  seen 
many  specimens  of  Ruins  —  I  don't  think  however  I 
shall  ever  see  one  to  surpass  Carisbrooke  Castle.  The 
trench  is  overgrown  with  the  smoothest  turf  and  the  Walls 
with  ivy.  The  keep  within  side  is  one  Bower  of  ivy  —  a 
colony  of  Jacdaws  have  been  there  for  many  years.  I 
dare  say  I  have  seen  many  a  descendant  of  some  old 
cawer  who  peeped  through  the  bars  at  Charles  the  First, 
when  he  was  there  in  Confinement.  On  the  road  from 
Cowes  to  Newport  I  saw  some  extensive  Barracks,  which 
disgusted  me  extremely  with  the  Government  for  placing 
such  a  Nest  of  Debauchery  in  so  beautiful  a  place.  I 
32 


Adonais  Garrulous 

asked  a  man  on  the  coach  about  this  —  and  he  said  that 
the  people  had  been  spoiled.  In  the  room  where  I  slept 
at  Newport,  I  found  this  on  the  window  —  "O  Isle  spoilt 
by  the  Milctary  ! "  I  must  in  honesty  however  confess 
that  I  did  not  feel  very  sorry  at  the  idea  of  the  women 
being  a  little  profligate. 

The  wind  is  in  a  sulky  fit,  and  I  feel  that  it  would  be 
no  bad  thing  to  be  the  favourite  of  some  Fairy,  who 
would  give  one  the  power  of  seeing  how  our  Friends  got 
on  at  a  distance.  I  should  like,  of  all  Loves,  a  sketch  of 
you  and  Tom  and  George  in  ink  which  Haydon  will  do  if 
you  will  tell  him  how  I  want  them.  From  want  of 
regular  rest  I  have  been  rather  narvus  —  and  the  passage 
in  Lear  —  "Do  you  not  hear  the  sea  ?  "  has  haunted  me 
intensely. 

It  keeps  eternal  whispering  around 

Desolate  shores,  and  with  its  mighty  swell 

Gluts  twice  ten  thousand  Caverns,  till  the  spell 

Of  Hecate  leaves  them  their  old  shadowy  sound. 

Often  'tis  in  such  gentle  temper  found, 

That  scarcely  will  the  very  smallest  shell 

Be  mov'd  for  days  from  whence  it  sometime  fell, 

When  last  the  winds  from  Heaven  were  unbound. 

O  ye  !  who  have  your  eye-balls  vex'd  and  tir'd, 

Feast  them  upon  the  wideness  of  the  Sea ; 

O  ye  !  whose  ears  are  dinn'd  with  uproar  rude, 

Or  fed  too  much  with  cloying  melody  — 

Sit  ye  near  some  old  Cavern's  Mouth,  and  brood 

Until  ye  start,  as  if  the  sea-nymphs  quired. 

II 

April  18  (1817) 

WILL  you  have  the  goodness  to  do  this  ?     Borrow  a 
Botanical  Dictionary  —  turn  to  the  words  Laure 
and  Prunus,  shew  the  explanations  to  your  sisters  and 

D  33 


The  Second  Post 

Mrs.  Dilke  and  without  more  ado  let  them  send  me  the 
Cups,  Basket  and  Books  they  trifled  and  put  off  and  off 
while  I  was  in  Town.  Ask  them  what  they  can  say  for 
themselves , —  ask  Mrs.  Dilke  wherefore  she  does  so  dis- 
tress me  —  let  me  know  how  Jane  has  her  health  —  the 
weather  is  unfavourable  for  her,  —  tell  George  and  Tom  to 
write.  I'll  tell  you  what  —  on  the  23rd  was  Shakespeare 
born.  Now  if  I  should  receive  a  letter  from  you,  and  an- 
other from  my  Brothers  on  that  day  'twould  be  a  parlous 
good  thing.  Whenever  you  write  say  a  word  or  two  on 
some  Passage  in  Shakespeare  that  may  have  come  rather 
new  to  you,  which  must  be  continually  happening,  not- 
withstanding that  we  read  the  same  play  forty  times — for 
instance,  the  following  from  the  Tempest  never  struck 
me  so  forcibly  as  at  present : 

"  Urchins 

Shall,  for  the  vast  of  night  that  they  may  work, 
All  exercise  on  thee " 

How  can  I  help  bringing  to  your  mind  the  line  — 
"In  the  dark  backward  and  abysm  of  lime." 

I  find  I  cannot  exist  without  Poetry  —  without  eternal 
Poetry  —  half  the  day  will  not  do  —  the  whole  of  it  —  I 
began  with  a  little  but  habit  has  made  me  a  Leviathan. 
I  had  become  all  in  a  tremble  from  not  having  written 
any  thing  of  late.  The  Sonnet  over-leaf  did  me  good. 
I  slept  the  better  last  night  for  it  —  this  morning,  how- 
ever, I  am  nearly  as  bad  again.  Just  now  I  opened 
Spenser,  and  the  first  lines  I  saw  were  these  — 

"The  noble  heart  that  harbours  virtuous  thought, 
And  is  with  child  of  glorious  great  intent, 
Can  never  rest  until  it  forth  have  brought 
Th'  eternal  brood  of  glory  excellent " 

34 


Adonais  Garrulous 

Let  me  know  particularly  about  Haydon,  ask  him  to 
write  to  me  about  Hunt,  if  it  be  only  ten  lines  —  I  hope 
all  is  well  —  I  shall  forthwith  begin  my  Endymion,  which 
I  hope  I  shall  have  got  some  way  with  by  the  time  you 
come,  when  we  will  read  our  verses  in  a  delightful  place 
I  have  set  my  heart  upon,  near  the  Castle. 

Give  my  Love  to  your  Sisters  severally  —  to  George 
and  Tom.  Remember  me  to  Rice,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dilke 
and  all  we  know.  —  Your  sincere  friend, 

JOHN  KEATS 

III 

(To  John  Hamilton  Reynolds) 

TEIGNMOUTH,  Saturday  (March  14,  1818)    . 

DEAR  REYNOLDS,  —  I  escaped  being  blown  over 
and  blown  under  and  trees  and  house  being 
toppled  on  me.  —  I  have,  since  hearing  of  Brown's 
accident  had  an  aversion  to  a  dose  of  parapet,  and  being 
also  a  lover  of  antiquities  I  would  sooner  have  a  harmless 
piece  of  Herculaneum  sent  me  quietly  as  a  present  than 
ever  so  modern  a  chimney-pot  tumbled  on  to  my  head. 
Being  agog  to  see  some  Devonshire,  I  would  have  taken 
a  walk  the  first  day,  but  the  rain  would  not  let  me ;  and 
the  second,  but  the  rain  would  not  let  me ;  and  the  third, 
but  the  rain  forbade  it.  Ditto  4  —  ditto  5  —  ditto  —  so  I 
made  up  my  Mind  to  stop  in-doors,  and  catch  a  sight 
flying  between  the  showers :  and,  behold  I  saw  a  pretty 
valley  —  pretty  cliffs,  pretty  Brooks,  pretty  Meadows, 
pretty  trees,  both  standing  as  they  were  created,  and 
blown  down  as  they  are  uncreated.  The  green  is 
beautiful  as  they  say,  and  pity  it  is  that  it  is  amphibious 
—  maist  but  alas !  the  flowers  here  wait  as  naturally  for 

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The  Second   Post 

the  rain  twice  a  day  as  the  Mussels  do  for  the  Tide ;  so 
we  look  upon  a  brook  in  these  parts  as  you  look  upon  a 
splash  in  your  Country.  There  must  be  something  to 
support  this  —  aye,  fog,  hail,  snow,  rain,  Mist  blanketing 
up  three  parts  of  the  year.  This  Devonshire  is  like 
Lydia  Languish,  very  entertaining  when  it  smiles  but 
cursedly  subject  to  sympathetic  moisture.  You  have  the 
sensation  of  walking  under  one  great  Lamp-lighter ;  and 
you  can't  go  on  the  other  side  of  the  ladder  to  keep  your 
frock  clean,  and  cosset  your  superstition.  Buy  a  girdle 

—  put  a  pebble  in  your  mouth  —  loosen  your  braces  —  for 
I  am  going  among  scenery  whence  I  intend  to  tip  you  the 
Damosel  Radcliffe  —  I'll  cavern  you,  and  grotto  you,  and 
waterfall  you,  and  wood  you,  and  water  you,  and  im- 
mense-rock you,  and  tremendous-sound  you,  and  solitude 
you.     I'll  make  a  lodgment  on  your  glacis  by  a  row  of 
Pines,  and  storm  your  covered  way  with  bramble  Bushes. 
I'll  have  at  you  with  hip  and  haw  small-shot,  and  cannon- 
ade you  with  Shingles  —  I'll  be  witty  upon  salt-fish,  and 
impede  your  cavalry  with  clotted  cream.     But  ah  coward  ! 
to  talk  at  this  rate  to  a  sick  man,  or,  I  hope  to  one  that 
was  sick  —  for  I  hope  by  this  you  stand  on  your  right 
foot.     If  you  are  not  —  that's  all  —  I  intend  to  cut  all  sick 
people  if  they  do  not  make  up  their  minds  to  cut  Sickness 

—  a  fellow  to  whom  I  have  a  complete  aversion,  and  who 
strange  to  say  is  harboured  and  countenanced  in  several 
houses  where  I  visit  —  he  is  sitting  now  quite  impudent 
between  me  and  Tom  —  he  insults  me  at  poor  Jem  Rice's 

—  and  you  have  seated  him  before  now  between  us  at  the 
Theatre,  when  I  thought  he  looked  with  a  longing  eye  at 
poor  Kean.    I  shall  say,  once  for  all,  to  my  friends,  gen- 
erally and  severally,  cut  that  fellow,  or  I  cut  you. 

I  went  to  the  Theatre  here  the  other  night,  which  I 
36 


Adonais  Garrulous 

forgot  to  tell  George,  and  got  insulted,  which  I  ought  to 
remember  to  forget  to  tell  any  Body ;  for  I  did  not  fight, 
and  as  yet  have  had  no  redress  —  "  Lie  thou  there,  sweet- 
heart ! "  I  wrote  to  Bailey  yesterday,  obliged  to  speak  in 
a  high  way,  and  a  damme  who's  afraid  —  for  I  had  owed 
him  so  long ;  however,  he  shah1  see  I  will  be  better  in 
future.  Is  he  in  town  yet  ?  I  have  directed  to  Oxford  as 
the  better  chance.  I  have  copied  my  Fourth  Book,  and 
shall  write  the  Preface  soon.  I  wish  it  was  all  done; 
for  I  want  to  forget  it,  and  make  my  mind  free  for 
something  new. 

Atkins  the  coachman,  Bartlett  the  surgeon,  Simmons 
the  barber,  and  the  Girls  over  at  the  Bonnet  shop,  say  we 
shall  now  have  a  month  of  seasonable  weather  —  warm, 
witty  and  full  of  invention.  Write  to  me  and  tell  me  that 
you  are  well  or  thereabouts,  or  by  the  holy  Beaucoeur, 
which  I  suppose  is  the  Virgin  Mary,  or  the  repented 
Magdalen  (beautiful  name,  that  Magdalen),  I'll  take  to 
my  wings  and  fly  away  to  anywhere  but  old  or  Nova 
Scotia.  I  wish  I  had  a  little  innocent  bit  of  metaphysic  in 
my  head,  to  criss-cross  this  letter,  but  you  know  a  favourite 
tune  is  hardest  to  be  remembered  when  one  wants  it  most 
and  you,  I  know,  have  long  ere  this  taken  it  for  granted 
that  I  never  have  any  speculations  without  associating 
you  in  them,  where  they  are  of  a  pleasant  nature,  and 
you  know  enough  of  me  to  tell  the  places  where  I  haunt 
most,  so  that  if  you  think  for  five  minutes  after  having 
read  this,  you  will  find  it  a  long  letter,  and  see  written  in 
the  Air  before  you,  your  most  affectionate  friend, 

JOHN  KEATS 


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The  Second  Post 


IV 

(To  the  Misses  M.  and  S.  Jeffrey) 

TEIGNMOUTH,  HAMPSTEAD,  June  4  (1818) 

MY  DEAR  GIRLS,  —  I  will  not  pretend  to  string  a 
list  of  excuses  together  for  not  having  written 
before  —  but  must  at  once  confess  the  indolence  of  my 
disposition,  which  makes  a  letter  more  formidable  to  me 
than  a  Pilgrimage.  I  am  a  fool  in  delay,  for  the  idea  of 
neglect  is  an  everlasting  Knapsack  which  even  now  I  have 
scarce  power  to  hoist  off.  By  the  bye,  talking  of  ever- 
lasting knapsacks,  I  intend  to  make  my  fortune  by  them 
in  a  case  of  a  War  (which  you  must  consequently  pray  for) 
by  contracting  with  Government  for  said  materials  to  the 
economy  of  one  branch  of  the  Revenue.  At  all  events  a 
Tax  which  is  taken  from  the  people  and  shoulder'd  upon 
the  military  ought  not  to  be  snubb'd  at  I  promised  to 
send  you  all  the  news.  Harkee !  The  whole  city  cor- 
poration, with  a  deputation  from  the  Fire  Offices,  are  now 
engaged  at  the  London  Coffee  house  in  secret  conclave 
concerning  Saint  Paul's  Cathedral  its  being  washed 
clean.  Many  interesting  speeches  have  been  demosthen- 
ized  in  said  Coffee  house  as  to  the  cause  of  the  black 
appearance  of  the  said  Cathedral.  One  of  the  veal-thigh 
Aldermen  actually  brought  up  three  witnesses  to  depose 
how  they  beheld  the  ci-devant  fair  Marble  turn  black  on 
the  tolling  of  the  great  Bell  for  the  amiable  and  tea-table 
lamented  Princess  —  adding  moreover  that  this  sort  of 
sympathy  in  inanimate  objects  was  by  no  means  uncom- 
mon, for,  said  the  Gentleman,  "as  we  were  once  debating 
in  the  Common  Hall  Mr.  Waitheman  in  illustration  of 
33 


Adonais  Garrulous 

some  case  in  point  quoted  Peter  Pindar,  at  which  the 
head  of  George  the  third  although  in  hard  marble 
squinted  over  the  Mayor's  seat  at  the  honourable  speaker 
so  oddly  that  he  was  obliged  to  sit  down."  However  I 
will  not  tire  you  about  these  Affairs  for  they  must  be  in 
your  Newspapers  by  this  time.  You  see  how  badly  I 
have  written  these  last  three  lines  so  I  will  remain  here 
and  take  a  pinch  of  snuff  every  five  Minutes  until  my 
head  becomes  fit  and  proper  and  legitimately  inclined  to 
scribble.  Oh  !  there's  nothing  like  a  pinch  of  snuff  except 
perhaps  a  few  trifles  almost  beneath  a  philosopher's 
dignity  such  as  a  ripe  Peach  or  a  Kiss  that  one 
takes  on  a  lease  of  91  moments  —  on  a  building  lease. 
Talking  of  that,  is  the  Cap"  married  yet,  or  rather 
married  ?  Miss  Mitchell  —  is  she  stony  hearted  enough 
to  hold  out  this  season?  Has  the  Doctor  given  Miss 
Perryman  a  little  love  powder  ?  tell  him  to  do  so.  It  really 
would  not  be  unamusing  to  see  her  languish  a  little  —  Oh 
she  must  be  quite  melting  this  hot  Weather.  Are  the 
little  Robins  weaned  yet  ?  Do  they  walk  alone  ?  You 
have  had  a  christening  a  top  o'  the  tiles  and  a  Hawk  has 
stood  God  father  and  taken  the  little  Brood  under  the 
Shadow  of  its  Wings  much  in  the  way  of  Mother  Church — 
a  Cat  too  has  very  tender  bowels  in  such  pathetic  Cases. 
They  say  we  are  all  (that  is  our  set)  mad  at  Hampstcad. 
There's  George  took  unto  himself  a  wife  a  week  ago  and 
will  in  a  little  time  sail  for  America  —  and  I  with  a  friend 
am  preparing  for  a  four  months'  walk  all  over  the  North 
—  and  belike  Tom  not  stop  here  —  he  has  been  getting 
much  better  —  Lord  what  a  Journey  I  had  and  what  a 
relief  at  the  end  of  it  —  I'm  sure  I  could  not  have  stood  it 
many  more  days.  Hampstead  is  now  in  fine  order. 
I  suppose  Teignmouth  and  the  contagious  country  is 

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The  Second  Post 

now  quite  remarkable  —  you  might  praise  it  I  dare  say  in 
the  manner  of  a  grammatical  exercise  —  The  trees  are 
full  —  the  den  is  crowded  —  the  boats  are  sailing  —  the 
musick  is  playing.  I  wish  you  were  here  a  little  while  — 
but  lauk  we  haven't  got  any  female  friend  in  the  house. 
Tom  is  taken  for  a  Madman  and  I  being  somewhat 
stunted  am  taken  for  nothing  —  We  lounge  on  the  Walk 
opposite  as  you  might  on  the  Den  —  I  hope  the  fine  season 
will  keep  up  your  mother's  Spirits  —  she  was  used  to  be 
too  much  downhearted.  No  Women  ought  to  be  born 
into  the  world  for  they  may  not  touch  the  bottle  for 
shame  —  now  a  man  may  creep  into  a  bung  hole  —  How- 
ever this  is  a  tale  of  a  tub  —  however  I  like  to  play  upon 
a  pipe  sitting  upon  a  puncheon  and  intend  to  be  so  drawn 
in  the  frontispiece  to  my  next  book  of  Pastorals  —  My 
Brother's  respects  and  mine  to  your  Mother  and  all  our 
Loves  to  you.  —  Yours  very  sincerely, 

JOHN  KEATS 

P.S.  has  many  significations  —  here  it  signifies  Post 
Script  —  in  the  corner  of  a  Handkerchief  Polly  Saunders 
—  upon  a  Garter  Pretty  Secret  —  upon  a  Band  Box  Pink 
Sattin  —  at  the  Theatre  Princes  Side  —  on  a  Pulpit  Par- 
son's Snuffle  —  and  at  a  Country  Ale  House  Pail  Sider. 

V 
(To  Thomas  Keats) 

AUCHENCAIRN,  July  3  (i8i8) 

MY  DEAR  TOM,  —  We  are  now  in  Meg  Merrilies' 
country,  and  have,  this  morning,  passed  through 
some  parts  exactly  suited  to  her.     Kirkcudbright  County 
is  very  beautiful,  very  wild,  with  craggy  hills,  somewhat 
40 


Adonais  Garrulous 

in  the  Westmoreland  fashion.  We  have  come  down 
from  Dumfries  to  the  sea-coast  part  of  it.  ... 

Yesterday  was  passed  in  Kirkcudbright ;  the  country 
is  very  rich,  very  fine  and  with  a  little  of  Devon.  I  am 
now  writing  at  Newton  Stewart,  six  miles  into  Wigtown. 
Our  landlady  of  yesterday  said,  "Very  few  Southerners 
passed  hereaways."  The  children  jabber  away,  as  if  in 
a  foreign  language ;  the  barefooted  girls  look  very  much 
in  keeping,  —  I  mean  with  the  scenery  about  them. 
Brown  praises  their  cleanliness  and  appearance  of 
comfort,  the  neatness  of  their  cottages,  etc.  — it  may  be  — 
they  are  very  squat  among  trees  and  fern  and  heath  and 
broom,  on  level  slopes  and  heights  —  but  I  wish  they 
were  as  snug  as  those  up  the  Devonshire  valleys.  We 
are  lodged  and  entertained  in  great  varieties.  We  dined 
yesterday  on  dirty  bacon,  dirtier  eggs,  and  dirtiest 
potatoes,  with  a  slice  of  salmon  —  we  breakfast  this 
morning  in  a  nice  carpeted  room,  with  sofa,  hair- 
bottomed  Chairs,  and  green-baized  Mahogany.  A  spring 
by  the  road-side  is  always  welcome.  We  drink  water  for 
dinner,  diluted  with  a  Gill  of  whisky. 

July  6  (1818).  — Yesterday  morning  we  set  out  from 
Glenluce,  going  some  distance  round  to  see  some  rivers : 
they  were  scarcely  worth  the  while.  We  went  on  to 
Stranraer,  in  a  burning  sun,  and  had  gone  about  six 
miles  when  the  Mail  overtook  us.  We  got  up,  were 
at  Port  Patrick  in  a  jiffey,  and  I  am  writing  now  in  little 
Ireland.  The  dialects  on  the  neighbouring  shores  of 
Scotland  and  Ireland  are  much  the  same,  yet  I  can 
perceive  a  great  difference  in  the  nations,  from  the 
chambermaid  at  this  nate  toonc  kept  by  Mr.  Kelly.  She 
is  fair,  kind  and  ready  to  laugh,  because  she  is  out  of 
the  horrible  dominion  of  the  Scotch  Kirk.  A  Scotch 


The  Second   Post 

girl  stands  in  terrible  awe  of  the  Elders  —  poor  little 
Susannahs,  they  will  scarcely  laugh,  their  Kirk  is  greatly 
to  be  damned.  These  Kirkmen  have  done  Scotland 
good  (query  ?).  They  have  made  men,  women ;  old  men, 
young  men ;  old  women,  young  women ;  boys,  girls ;  and 
all  infants  careful  —  so  that  they  are  formed  into  regular 
phalanges  of  savers  and  gainers.  Such  a  thrifty  army 
cannot  fail  to  enrich  their  Country,  and  give  it  a  greater 
appearance  of  comfort  than  that  of  their  [this  ?]  poor  rash 
neighbourhood.  These  Kirkmen  have  done  Scotland 
harm ;  they  have  banished  puns,  and  laughing,  and 
kissing,  etc.  (except  in  cases  where  the  very  danger  and 
crime  must  make  it  very  gustful).  I  shall  make  a  full 
stop  at  kissing,  for  after  that,  there  should  be  a  better 
parenthesis,  and  go  on  to  remind  you  of  the  fate  of 
Burns  —  poor  unfortunate  fellow,  his  disposition  was 
Southern  —  how  sad  it  is  when  a  luxurious  imagination 
is  obliged,  in  self-defence,  to  deaden  its  delicacy  in 
vulgarity  and  in  things  attainable,  that  it  may  not  have 
leisure  to  go  mad  after  things  that  are  not.  No  man,  in 
such  matters,  will  be"  content  with  the  experience  of 
others.  It  is  true  that  out  of  suffering  there  is  no  dignity, 
no  greatness,  that  in  the  most  abstracted  pleasure  there 
is  no  lasting  happiness.  Yet  who  would  not  like  to 
discover  over  again  that  Cleopatra  was  a  Gipsy,  Helen 
a  rogue,  and  Ruth  a  deep  one  ?  I  have  not  sufficient 
reasoning  faculty  to  settle  the  doctrine  of  thrift,  as  it  is 
consistent  with  the  dignity  of  human  Society  —  with  the 
happiness  of  Cottagers.  All  I  can  do  is  by  plump 
contrasts ;  were  the  fingers  made  to  squeeze  a  guinea 
or  a  white  hand  ?  —  were  the  lips  made  to  hold  a  pen  or 
a  kiss  ?  and  yet  in  Cities  man  is  shut  out  from  his  fellows 
if  he  is  poor  —  the  cottages  must  be  very  dirty  and  very 
42 


Adonais  Garrulous 

wretched  if  she  be  not  thrifty  —  the  present  state  of 
society  demands  this,  and  this  convinces  me  the  world 
is  very- young,  and  in  a  very  ignorant  state.  We  live  in 
a  barbarous  age  —  I  would  sooner  be  a  wild  deer,  than  a 
girl  under  the  dominion  of  the  Kirk ;  and  I  would  sooner 
be  a  wild  hog,  than  be  the  occasion  of  a  poor  Creature's 
penance  before  those  execrable  elders. 

VI 

(To  Fanny  Keats) 

WINCHESTER,  August  28 
Postmark,  August  29,  1819 

MY  DEAR  FANNY, —  You  must  forgive  me  for 
suffering  so  long  a  space  to  elapse  between  the 
dates  of  my  letters.  It  is  more  than  a  fortnight  since 
I  left  Shanklin  chiefly  for  the  purpose  of  being  near  a 
tolerable  Library,  which  after  all  is  not  to  be  found  in 
this  place.  However  we  like  it  very  much :  it  is  the 
pleasantest  Town  I  ever  was  in,  and  has  the  most 
recommendations  of  any.  There  is  a  fine  Cathedral 
which  to  me  is  always  a  source  of  amusement,  part  of 
it  built  1400  years  ago ;  and  the  more  modern  by  a 
magnificent  Man,  you  may  have  read  of  in  our  History, 
called  William  of  Wickham.  The  whole  town  is  beauti- 
fully wooded.  From  the  hill  at  the  eastern  extremity 
you  see  a  prospect  of  Streets,  and  old  Buildings  mixed 
up  with  Trees.  Then  there  are  the  most  beautiful 
streams  about  I  ever  saw  —  full  of  Trout.  There  is  the 
Foundation  of  St.  Croix  about  half  a  mile  in  the  fields 
—  a  charity  greatly  abused. 
We  have  a  Collegiate  School,  a  Roman  Catholic 

43 


The  Second   Post 

School ;  a  chapel  ditto  and  a  nunnery !  And  what 
improves  it  all  is,  the  fashionable  inhabitants  are  all 
gone  to  Southampton.  We  are  quiet  —  except  a  fiddle 
that  now  and  then  goes  like  Gimlet  through  my  Ears  — 
our  Landlady's  son  not  being  quite  a  Proficient. 

The  delightful  Weather  we  have  had  for  two  Months 
is  the  highest  gratification  I  could  receive  —  no  chilPd 
red  noses  —  no  shivering  —  but  fair  atmosphere  to  think 
in  —  a  clean  towel  mark'd  with  the  mangle  and  a  basin 
of  clear  Water  to  drench  one's  face  with  ten  times  a 
day :  no  need  of  much  exercise  —  a  Mile  a  day  being  quite 
sufficient.  My  greatest  regret  is  that  I  have  not  been 
well  enough  to  bathe  though  I  have  been  two  Months 
by  the  sea  side  and  live  now  close  to  delicious  bathing. 
Still  I  enjoy  the  Weather  —  I  adore  fine  Weather  as  the 
greatest  blessing  I  can  have.  Give  me  Books,  fruit, 
French  wine  and  fine  weather  and  a  little  music  out  of 
doors  played  by  some  one  I  do  not  know  —  not  pay  the 
price  of  one's  time  for  a  jig  —  but  a  little  chance  music : 
and  I  can  pass  a  summer  very  quietly  without  caring  much 
about  Fat  Louis,  fat  Regent  or  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 

Why  have  you  not  written  to  me  ?  Because  you  were 
in  expectation  of  George's  letter  and  so  waited  ?  Mr. 
Brown  is  copying  out  our  Tragedy  of  Otho  the  Great  in 
a  superb  style  —  better  than  it  deserves  —  there  as  I  said 
is  labour  in  vain  for  the  present.  I  had  hoped  to  give 
Kean  another  opportunity  to  shine.  What  can  we  do 
now?  There  is  not  another  actor  of  Tragedy  in  all 
London  or  Europe.  The  Covent  Garden  Company  is  ex- 
ecrable. Young  is  the  best  among  them  and  he  is  a  rant- 
ing, coxcombical  tasteless  Actor  —  a  Disgust,  a  Nau- 
sea —  and  yet  the  very  best  after  Kean.  What  a  set  of 
barren  asses  are  actors  !  I  should  like  now  to  promenade 
44 


Adonais  Garrulous 

round  your  Gardens  —  apple-tasting  —  pear-tasting  — 
plum-judging  —  apricot-nibbling  —  peach-scrunching  — 
nectarine-sucking  and  melon-carving.  I  have  also  a  great 
feeling  for  antiquated  cherries  full  of  sugar  cracks  —  and  a 
white  currant  tree  kept  for  company.  I  admire  lolling  on 
a  lawn  by  a  water-lilied  pond  to  eat  white  currants  and 
see  gold  fish :  and  go  to  the  Fair  in  the  Evening  if  I'm 
good.  There  is  not  hope  for  that  —  one  is  sure  to  get  into 
some  mess  before  evening.  Have  these  hot  days  I  brag 
of  so  much  been  well  or  ill  for  your  health  ?  Let  me  hear 
soon.  —  Your  affectionate  Brother,  JOHN 


45 


IV 

FIRST  CENTURY  A.D. 

Four  Letters  of  Pliny  the  Younger    *^>     <c^     ^y     <s* 

(To  Bebius) 

MY  friend  and  guest  Tranquillus  has  an  inclination 
to  purchase  a  small  farm,  of  which,  as  I  am 
informed,  an  acquaintance  of  yours  intends  to  dispose. 

I  beg  you  would  endeavour  he  may  obtain  it  on  rea- 
sonable terms ;  which  will  add  to  his  satisfaction  in  the 
purchase.  A  dear  bargain  is  always  disagreeable, 
particularly  as  it  is  a  reflection  on  the  buyer's  judgment. 

There  are  several  circumstances  attending  this  little 
villa,  which  (supposing  my  friend  has  no  objection  to 
the  price)  are  extremely  suitable  to  his  tastes  and  desires ; 
the  convenient  distance  from  Rome,  the  goodness  of  the 
roads,  the  smallness  of  the  building,  and  the  very  few 
acres  of  land  around  it,  which  are  enough  to  amuse,  but 
not  to  employ  him. 

To  a  man  of  the  literary  turn  that  Tranquillus  is  it  is 
sufficient  if  he  has  but  a  small  spot  to  relieve  the  mind 
and  divert  the  eye,  where  he  may  saunter  round  his 
grounds,  traverse  his  single  walk,  grow  familiar  with  his 
two  or  three  vines,  and  count  his  little  plantations.  I 
46 


First  Century  A.D. 

mention  these  particulars  to  let  you  see  how  much  he 
will  be  obliged  to  me,  as  I  shall  be  to  you,  if  you  can 
help  him  to  this  convenient  little  box,  at  a  price  of  which 
he  shall  have  no  occasion  to  repent.  Farewell. 

(To  Priscus) 

AS  I  know  you  gladly  embrace  every  opportunity  of 
obliging  me,  so  there  is  no  man  to  whom  I  had 
rather  lay  myself  under  an  obligation. 
•  I  apply  to  you,  therefore,  preferably  to  anybody  else, 
for  a  favour  which  I  am  extremely  desirous  of  obtaining. 
You,  who  are  at  the  head  of  a  very  considerable  army, 
have  many  opportunities  of  exercising  your  generosity ; 
and  the  length  of  time  you  have  enjoyed  that  post,  must 
have  enabled  you  to  provide  for  all  your  own  friends. 
I  hope  you  will  now  turn  your  eyes  upon  some  of  mine: 
they  are  but  a  few  indeed  for  whom  I  shall  solicit  you ; 
though  your  generous  disposition,  I  know,  would  be 
better  pleased  if  the  number  were  greater.  But  it  would 
ill  become  me  to  trouble  you  with  recommending  more 
than  one  or  two  ;  at  present  I  will  only  mention  Voconius 
Romanus.  His  father  was  of  great  distinction  among 
the  Roman  knights ;  and  his  father-in-law,  or,  as  I  might 
more  properly  call  him,  his  second  father  (for  his 
affectionate  treatment  of  Voconius  entitles  him  to  that 
appellation),  was  still  more  conspicuous.  His  mother 
was  one  of  the  most  considerable  ladies  of  Upper  Spain : 
you  know  what  character  the  people  of  that  province 
bear,  and  how  remarkable  they  are  for  the  strictness 
of  their  manners.  As  for  himself,  he  has  been  lately 
admitted  into  the  sacred  order  of  priesthood.  Our 
friendship  began  with  our  studies,  and  we  were  early 

47 


The  Second   Post 

united  in  the  closest  intimacy.  We  lived  together  under 
the  same  roof  in  town  and  country,  as  he  shared  with 
me  my  most  serious  and  my  gayest  hours :  and  where, 
indeed,  could  I  have  found  a  more  faithful  friend,  or 
more  agreeable  companion  ?  In  his  conversation,  even 
in  his  very  voice  and  countenance,  there  is  the  most 
amiable  sweetness ;  as  at  the  bar  he  discovers  an  elevated 
genius,  an  easy  and  harmonious  elocution,  a  clear  and 
penetrating  apprehension.  He  has  so  happy  a  turn  for 
epistolary  writing,  that  were  you  to  read  his  letters,  you 
would  imagine  they  had  been  dictated  by  the  Muses 
themselves.  I  love  him  with  more  than  common 
affection,  and  I  know  he  returns  it  with  equal  ardour. 
Even  in  the  earlier  part  of  our  lives,  I  warmly  embraced 
every  opportunity  of  doing  him  all  the  good  offices  which 
then  lay  in  my  power ;  as  I  have  lately  obtained  for  him 
of  the  Emperor,  the  privilege  granted  to  those  who  have 
three  children.  A  favour  which  though  Caesar  very 
rarely  bestows,  and  always  with  great  caution,  yet  he 
conferred  at  my  request,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  give 
it  the  air  and  grace  of  being  his  own  choice.  The  best 
way  of  shewing  that  I  think  he  deserves  the  obligations 
he  has  already  received  from  me,  is  by  adding  more  to 
them,  especially  as  he  always  accepts  my  favours  with 
so  much  gratitude  as  to  merit  farther.  Thus  I  have 
given  you  a  faithful  account  of  Romanus,  and  informed 
you  how  thoroughly  I  have  experienced  his  worth,  and 
how  much  I  love  him.  Let  me  intreat  you  to  honour 
him  with  your  patronage  in  a  way  suitable  to  the 
generosity  of  your  heart  and  the  eminence  of  your  station. 
But  above  all,  admit  him  into  a  share  of  your  affection ; 
for  though  you  were  to  confer  upon  him  the  utmost  you 
have  in  your  power  to  bestow,  you  can  give  him  nothing 
48 


First  Century  A.D. 

so  valuable  as  your  friendship.  That  you  may  see  he  is 
worthy  of  it,  even  to  the  highest  degree  of  intimacy,  I 
have  sent  you  this  short  sketch  of  his  character.  I  should 
continue  my  intercessions  in  his  behalf,  but  that  I  am 
sure  you  do  not  love  to  be  pressed  and  I  have  already 
repeated  them  in  every  line  of  this  letter;  for  to  show  a 
just  reason  for  what  one  asks,  is  to  intercede  in  the 
strongest  manner.  Farewell. 

(To  Calvisius) 

I  NEVER  spent  any  time  more  agreeably,  I  think, 
than  I  did  lately  with  Spurinna.  I  am  so  much 
pleased  with  the  uninterrupted  regularity  of  his  way  of 
life,  that  if  ever  I  should  arrive  at  old  age,  there  is  no  man 
whom  I  would  sooner  choose  for  my  model.  I  look 
upon  order  in  human  actions,  especially  at  that  advanced 
period,  with  the  same  sort  of  pleasure  as  I  behold  the 
settled  course  of  the  heavenly  bodies.  In  youths,  indeed, 
there  is  a  certain  irregularity  and  agitation  by  no  means 
unbecoming ;  but  in  age,  when  business  is  unseasonable 
and  ambition  indecent,  all  should  be  calm  and  uniform. 

This  rule  Spurinna  religiously  pursues  throughout  his 
whole  conduct.  Even  in  those  transactions  which  one 
might  call  minute  and  inconsiderable  did  they  not  occur 
every  day,  he  observes  a  certain  periodical  season  and 
method.  The  first  part  of  the  morning  he  devotes  to 
study ;  at  eight  he  dresses  and  walks  about  three  miles, 
in  which  he  enjoys  at  once  contemplation  and  exercise. 
At  his  return,  if  he  has  any  friends  with  him  in  his  house, 
he  enters  upon  some  polite  and  useful  topic  of  conversa- 
tion ;  if  he  is  alone  somebody  reads  to  him ;  and  some- 
times too  when  he  is  not,  if  it  is  agreeable  to  his 
E  49 


The  Second   Post 

company.  When  this  is  over  he  reposes  himself,  and 
then  again  either  takes  up  a  book,  or  falls  into  some 
discourse  even  more  entertaining  and  instructive.  He 
afterwards  takes  the  air  in  his  chariot,  either  with  his 
wife  (who  is  a  lady  of  uncommon  merit)  or  with  some 
friend :  a  happiness  which  lately  was  mine  !  —  How  agree- 
able, how  noble  is  the  enjoyment  of  him  in  that  hour 
of  privacy !  You  would  fancy  you  were  hearing  some 
worthy  of  ancient  times,  inflaming  your  heart  with  the 
most  heroic  examples,  and  instructing  your  mind  with 
the  most  exalted  precepts :  which  yet  he  delivers  with  so 
modest  an  air,  that  there  is  not  the  least  appearance  of 
dictating  in  his  conversation.  When  he  has  thus  taken 
a  tour  of  about  seven  miles,  he  gets  out  of  his  chariot 
and  walks  a  mile  more,  after  which  he  returns  home,  and 
either  reposes  himself,  or  retires  to  his  study.  He  has 
an  excellent  taste  for  poetry,  and  composes  in  the  lyric 
manner,  both  in  Greek  and  Latin,  with  great  judgment. 
It  is  surprising  what  an  ease  of  spirit  and  gaiety  runs 
through  his  verses,  which  the  merit  of  the  author  renders 
still  more  valuable.  When  the  baths  are  ready,  which  in 
winter  is  about  three  o'clock,  and  in  summer  about  two, 
he  undresses  himself;  and  if  there  happens  to  be  no 
wind,  he  walks  for  some  time  in  the  sun.  After  this  he 
plays  for  a  considerable  time  at  tennis ;  for  by  this  sort 
of  exercise  too,  he  combats  the  effects  of  old  age.  When 
he  has  bathed,  he  throws  himself  upon  his  couch  till 
supper  time,  and  in  the  meanwhile  some  agreeable  and 
entertaining  author  is  read  to  him.  In  this,  as  in  all  the 
rest,  his  friends  are  at  full  liberty  to  partake ;  or  to 
employ  themselves  in  any  other  manner  more  suitable 
to  their  taste.  You  sit  down  to  an  elegant  yet  frugal  re- 
past, which  is  served  up  in  pure  and  antique  plate.  He 

50 


First  Century  A.D. 

has  likewise  a  complete  equipage  for  his  side-board,  in 
Corinthian  metal,  which  is  his  pleasure,  not  his  passion. 
At  his  table  he  is  frequently  entertained  with  comedians, 
that  even  his  very  amusements  may  be  seasoned  with 
good  sense ;  and  though  he  continues  there,  even  in 
summer,  till  the  night  is  something  advanced,  yet  he 
prolongs  the  feast  with  so  much  affability  and  politeness, 
that  none  of  his  guests  ever  think  it  tedious.  By  this 
method  of  living  he  has  preserved  all  his  senses  entire 
and  his  body  active  and  vigorous  to  his  seventy-eighth 
year,  without  discovering  any  appearance  of  old  age, 
but  the  wisdom.  This  is  a  sort  of  life  which  I  ardently 
aspire  after;  as  I  purpose  to  enjoy  it,  when  I  shall 
arrive  at  those  years  which  will  justify  a  retreat  from 
business.  In  the  meanwhile  I  am  embarrassed  with  a 
thousand  affairs,  in  which  Spurinna  is  at  once  my  support 
and  my  example.  As  long  as  it  became  him  he  entered 
into  all  the  duties  of  public  life. 

It  was  by  passing  through  the  various  offices  of  the 
state,  by  governing  of  provinces,  and  by  indefatigable 
toil,  that  he  merited  the  repose  he  now  enjoys.  I 
propose  to  myself  the  same  course  and  the  same  end; 
and  I  give  it  to  you  under  my  hand  that  I  do  so.  If  an 
ill-timed  ambition  should  carry  me  beyond  it,  produce 
this  letter  against  me,  and  condemn  me  to  repose,  when- 
ever I  can  enjoy  it  without  being  reproached  with 
indolence.  Farewell. 

(To  Fuscus) 

YOU  desire  to  know  in  what  manner  I  dispose  of  my 
time  in  my  summer  villa  at  Tuscum.     I  rise  just 
when  I  find  myself  in  the  humour,  though  generally  with 
the  sun;    sometimes  indeed  sooner,  but  seldom  later. 


The  Second   Post 

When  I  am  up  I  continue  to  keep  the  shutters  of 
my  chamber-windows  closed,  as  darkness  and  silence 
wonderfully  promote  meditation.  Thus  free  and  ab- 
stracted from  those  outward  objects  which  dissipate 
attention,  I  am  left  to  my  own  thoughts ;  nor  suffer  my 
mind  to  wander  with  my  eyes  in  subjection  to  my  mind, 
which,  when  they  are  not  distracted  by  a  multiplicity  of 
external  objects,  see  nothing  but  what  the  imagination 
represents  to  them.  If  I  have  any  composition  upon  my 
hands,  this  is  the  time  I  choose  to  consider  it,  not  only 
with  respect  to  the  general  plan,  but  even  the  style  and 
expression,  which  I  settle  and  correct  as  if  I  were 
actually  writing.  In  this  manner  I  compose  more  or 
less  as  the  subject  is  more  or  less  difficult  and  I  find 
myself  able  to  retain  it.  Then  I  call  my  secretary,  and 
opening  the  shutters,  I  dictate  to  him  what  I  have  com- 
posed, after  which  I  dismiss  him  after  a  little  while  and 
then  call  him  in  again. 

About  ten  or  eleven  of  the  clock  (for  I  do  not  observe 
one  fixed  hour),  according  as  the  weather  proves,  I 
either  walk  upon  my  terrace,  or  in  the  covered  portico, 
and  there  I  continue  to  meditate  or  dictate  what  remains 
upon  the  subject  in  which  I  am  engaged.  From  thence 
I  get  into  my  chariot,  where  I  employ  myself  as  before, 
when  I  was  walking  or  in  my  study ;  and  find  this 
changing  of  the  scene  preserves  and  enlivens  my  atten- 
tion. At  my  return  home,  I  repose  myself ;  then  I  take 
a  walk ;  and  after  that  repeat  aloud  some  Greek  or 
Latin  oration,  not  so  much  for  the  sake  of  strengthening 
my  elocution  as  my  digestion ;  though  indeed  the  voice 
at  the  same  time  finds  its  account  in  this  practice.  Then 
I  walk  again  and  am  anointed,  take  my  exercises,  and  go 
into  the  bath.  At  supper,  if  I  have  only  my  wife  or  a  few 
52 


First  Century  A.D. 

friends  with  me,  some  author  is  read  to  us;  and  after 
supper  we  are  entertained  either  with  music  or  an  inter- 
lude. When  that  is  finished,  I  take  my  walk  with  my 
family,  in  the  number  of  which  I  am  not  without  some 
persons  of  literature.  Thus  we  pass  our  evenings  in 
various  conversation ;  and  the  day,  even  when  it  is  at 
the  longest,  steals  away  imperceptibly. 

Upon  some  occasions,  I  change  the  order  in  certain  of 
the  articles  above  mentioned.  For  instance,  if  I  have 
studied  longer  or  walked  more  than  usual,  after  my 
second  sleep  and  reading  an  oration  or  two  aloud,  instead 
of  using  my  chariot  I  get  on  horseback ;  by  which  means 
I  take  as  much  exercise  and  lose  less  time.  The  visits 
of  my  friends  from  the  neighbouring  villages  claim  some 
part  of  the  day;  and  sometimes,  by  an  agreeable  in- 
terruption, they  come  in  very  seasonably  to  relieve  me 
when  I  am  fatigued.  I  now  and  then  amuse  myself  with 
sporting,  but  always  take  my  tablets  into  the  field,  that 
though  I  should  not  meet  with  game,  I  may  at  least 
bring  home  something.  Part  of  my  time  too  (though  not 
as  much  as  they  desire)  is  allotted  to  my  tenants ;  and  I 
find  their  rustic  complaints  give  a  zest  to  my  studies  and 
engagements  of  the  polite  kind.  Farewell. 


E.  F.G. 
Eight  letters  of  Edward  FitzGerald      *c^        -v^y        *^ 

I 

(To  W.  F.  Pollock) 

GELDESTONE,  June  24/42 

DEAR  POLLOCK,  —  There  is  that  poor  fellow 
Thackeray  gone  off  to  Ireland :  and  what  a  lazy 
beast  I  am  for  not  going  with  him.  But  except  for  a 
journey  of  two  days,  I  get  as  dull  as  dirt.  I  wish  some- 
body had  gone  with  him.  But  he  will  find  lots  of 
companions  in  Ireland.  What  is  become  of  A.  T.1  ?  You 
never  told  me  that,  nor  how  his  book  went  on :  about 
which  I  have  really  a  curiosity.  I  see  the  advertisement 
of  Edwin  the  Fair  in  the  papers:  something  about  the 
Heptarchy,  I  suppose ;  a  stupid  time,  whenever  it  was. 
And  my  dear  Daddy's  Tragedy  2  too,  has  any  one  read  it  ? 
We  have  been  burnt  up  here,  but  to-day  (the  grass 
being  just  mowed)  it  rains  pitchforks,  which  might  be 
useful  if  not  coming  in  such  great  numbers.  But  our 
garden  is  full  of  roses  and  all  capital  things.  I  wish 

1  Tennyson. 

*  Wordsworth's  "The  Borderers." 

54 


E.  F.G. 

trade  was  going  on  well :  and  that  we  could  be  left  as 
we  are. 

I  have  written  a  note  to  Spedding,  such  an  one  as  he 
sent  me,  a  ruffian ;  I  have  the  pleasure  of  abusing  some 
of  his  idols  in  it.  A  man  on  the  coach  the  other  day  told 
me  that  all  was  being  settled  very  easily  in  America,  but 
stage-coach  politicians  are  not  always  to  be  trusted.  I 
propose  that  we  leave  Spedding  as  a  hostage  in  the  hands 
of  the  Americans.  They  must  send  over  Willis  or  some 
one  of  their  great  men. 

When  do  you  set  off  on  your  trip  to  the  Hebrides  ?  or 
your  yachting,  wherever  it  is  ?  I  mean  to  go  to  Blenheim 
to  see  a  Raffaelle  this  year,  and  that  is  all  I  propose  to 
do.  No  sights  recompense  the  often  undoing  and  doing 
up  of  a  carpet-bag.  What  then  is  the  stamping  down, 
strapping,  and  locking  up  of  a  trunk,  with  all  the  blood 
in  your  head  !  If  one  were  rich,  and  travelled  with  a 
valet  to  do  all,  it  would  be  well.  The  only  other  alter- 
native is  to  travel  with  nothing  but  the  clothes  on  one's 
back. 

Sic  cogitabat.  —  Yours  ever,  E.  F.G. 

II 

(To  S.  Laurence) 
BOULGE,  WOODBRIDGE  (January  30,  1848) 

Y  DEAR  LAURENCE,  —  How  are  you  —  how  are 

you  getting  on?    A  voice  from  the  tombs  thus 
addresses  you  ;  respect  the  dead,  and*  answer. 

Barton  is  well ;  that  is,  I  left  him  well  on  Friday ;  but 
he  was  just  going  off  to  attend  a  Quaker's  funeral  in  the 
snow :  whether  he  has  survived  that,  I  don't  know. 

55 


M 


The  Second   Post 

To-morrow  is  his  Birth-day :  and  I  am  going  (if  he  be 
alive)  to  help  him  to  celebrate  it.  His  portrait  has  been 
hung  (under  my  directions)  over  the  mantel-piece  in  his 
sitting-room,  with  a  broad  margin  of  some  red  stuff 
behind  it,  to  set  it  off.  You  may  turn  up  your  nose  at 
all  this;  but  let  me  tell  you  it  is  considered  one  of 
the  happiest  contrivances  ever  adopted  in  Woodbridge. 
Nineteen  people  out  of  twenty  like  the  portrait  much ; 
the  twentieth,  you  may  be  sure,  is  a  man  of  no  taste  at  all. 
I  hear  you  were  for  a  long  time  in  Cumberland.  Did 
you  paint  a  waterfall  —  or  old  Wordsworth — or  Skiddaw, 
or  any  of  the  beauties  ?  Did  you  see  anything  so  inviting 
to  the  pencil  as  the  river  Deben  ?  When  are  you  coming 
to  see  us  again?  Churchyard  relies  on  your  coming; 
but  then  he  is  a  very  sanguine  man,  and,  though  a 
lawyer,  wonderfully  confident  in  the  promises  of  men. 
How  are  all  your  family  ?  You  see  I  have  asked  you 
some  questions ;  so  you  must  answer  them ;  and  believe 
me  yours  truly,  E.  FITZGERALD 

III 

(To  Mrs.  Cowell) 
LONDON,  Friday  (April  25,  1856) 

MY  DEAR  LADY,  —  The  Picture  after  all  did  not 
go  down  yesterday  as  I  meant,  but  shall  and  will 
go  to-morrow  (Saturday).     Also  I  shall  send  you  dear 
Major  Moor's  Oriental  Fragments;   an  almost  worthless 
Book,  I  doubt,  to  those  who  did  not  know  him  —  which 
means,  love  him !     And  somehow  all  of  us  in  our  corner 
of  Suffolk  knew  something  of  him :    and  so  again  loved 
something  of  him.     For  there  was  nothing  at  all  about 
56 


E.  F.G. 

him  not  to  be  beloved.  Ah  !  I  think  how  interested  he 
would  have  been  with  all  this  Persian :  and  how  we 
should  have  disputed  over  parts  and  expressions  over  a 
glass  of  his  Shiraz  wine  (for  he  had  some)  in  his  snug 
Parlour,  or  in  his  Cornfields  when  the  Sun  fell  upon  the 
latest  Gleaners.  He  is  dead  !  and  you  will  go  where  he 
lived,  to  be  dead  to  me  ! 

Remember  to  take  poor  Barton's  little  Book  with  you 
to  India ;  better  than  many  a  better  Book  to  you  there  ! 

I  got  a  glimpse  of  Professor  Miiller's  Essay  l  —  full  of 
fine  things ;  but  I  hardly  gather  it  up  into  a  good  whole, 
which  is  very  likely  my  fault ;  from  hasty  perusal,  igno- 
rance, or  other  Incapacity.  Perhaps,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  found  the  Subject  too  great  for  his  Space ;  and  so 
has  left  it  disproportioned,  which  the  German  is  not 
inapt  to  do.  But  one  may  be  well  thankful  for  such 
admirable  fragments,  perhaps  left  so  in  the  very 
honesty  that  is  above  rounding  them  into  a  specious 
Theory  which  will  not  hold. 

In  a  footnote  to  the  foregoing  letter  Mr.  Aldis  Wright 
says :  "In  another  letter  written  about  the  same  time  he 
(E.  F.G.)  says,  'The  letter  to  Major  Price  at  the  begin- 
ning is  worth  any  Money,  and  almost  any  Love.'  This 
dedication  by  Major  Moor  to  his  old  comrade  in  arms 
FitzGerald  would  sometimes  try  to  read  aloud,  but  would 
break  down  before  he  could  finish  it."  I  append  it 
here : — 

MY  DEAR  PRICE,  —  Accept  the  Dedication  of  this 
little     Volume  —  a     very     trifling     testimony   of 
that  Esteem  and  Friendship  which  have  been  growing 
uninterruptedly,  not  far  short  of  half  a  century. 

1  Max  Miiller's  "Essay  on  Comparative  Mythology." 

57 


The  Second   Post 

Our  destinies  have  run  nearly  parallel  over  a  consider- 
able portion  of  the  course  of  our  lives.  In  early  day  we 
started  as  "Soldiers  of  Fortune"  for  the  same  country. 
So  long  ago  as  1783  we  were,  though  then  unknown  to  each 
other,  within  gun-shot  perhaps,  in  military  operations 
against  TIPPOO  on  the  coast  of  Malabar.  We  have  since 
served  together  in  the  same  armies,  the  same  detachments, 
the  same  garrisons,  and  the  same  regiments.  We  have 
together  stormed  the  same  forts  —  have  been  grievously 
maimed  and  mutilated  in  the  service  of  our  dearly  beloved 
Country,  and  our  blood  has  moistened  the  same  dust. 

After  an  active  intertropical  servitude  of  nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  century  —  having  filled  almost  every  staff 
situation  of  the  same  army;  having  gained  the  same 
military  rank;  we  returned  with  an  honorable  com- 
petency resulting  from  persevering  industry  and  economy, 
to  our  native  Country,  on  the  same  ship ;  and  have  set 
up  our  several  resting-places  within  sight  of  our  native 
hills.  Unwilling  to  be  altogether  idle  or  useless,  we  alike 
share  in  the  administration  of  the  Justice,  and  in  the 
preservation  of  the  Peace,  of  our  respective  Counties,  by 
acting  in  various  Commissions  under  the  Crown. 

Not  unobservant  while  in  India  of  the  people  among 
whom  our  early  fortunes  cast  us,  or  of  their  languages  or 
literature,  we  have,  since  our  return,  during  the  lapse  of 
another  quarter  of  a  century,  resorted  to  the  Press ;  and 
have  published  to  our  Countrymen  the  results  of  such 
observances  —  with  this  difference,  —  that  yours  have 
been  chiefly  directed  to  Mahommedan,  mine  to  Hindu 
literature :  and  with  this  farther  difference ;  —  that  you 
have  made  the  most  of  the  advantages  of  a  good  and 
classical  education,  while  I  have  had  to  contend  with 
the  disadvantages  of  a  bad  one.  You  have  drank 

58 


E.  F.G. 

deep,  while  I  have  only  sipped  at  those  Oriental  Literary 
springs. 

They  who  live  long  must  pay  the  sad  penalties  of 
existence :  —  must  see  their  old  comrades,  and  associates, 
and  friends,  fall  around  them.  If  we  look  back  for  our 
early  brethren  in  arms  —  where  are  they  ?  And  more  and 
more  recently  we  are  called  to  mourn  over  the  ripened 
Affections  of  our  later  years.  It  behoves  us  therefore  to 
rivet  the  more  closely  the  remaining  links  of  Friendship's 
early  chain  —  and  to  await,  in  contentedness  and  humble 
hope,  its  final  severance. 

With  these  sentiments  and  feelings  towards  you,  My 
dear  PRICE,  my  oldest  FELLOW  SOLDIER  and  FRIEND, 
I  most  cordially  and  affectionately  say  FAREWELL. 

EDWARD  MOOR 

BEALINGS,  SUFFOLK 
March  i,  1834 

IV 

(To  George  Crabbe) 

MARKET  HILL,  WOODBRIDGE 
Monday  (March  10,  1862) 

MY  DEAR  GEORGE,  —  There  is  Farlingay  left  in 
applepie  order,  with  its  good  Servants,  Gardener, 
etc.,  as  old  Smith  left  them,  and  I  am  asked  to  take  it  as 
it  is :  and  yet  —  I  am  afraid  to  leave  the  poor  Town  with 
its  little  bustle  !  As  one  grows  older,  lonelier,  and  sadder, 
is  not  the  little  Town  best,  though  Farlingay  be  the  Pink 
of  Places  ? 

I  have  bought  a  new  Boat,  which  is  not  yet  from 
London :  and  am  altering  (and  I  doubt  spoiling)  my  old 

59 


The  Second   Post 

one,  just  when  I  did  not  want  to  meddle  with  it  at  all. 
Then,  in  a  sudden  fit,  I  sold  out  all  my  Bank  Stock  into 
Dutch  Funds,  which  won't  give  me  as  much  Income ; 
my  only  consolation  being  that,  directly  after  I  had  done 
it,  the  Bank  Clerk  (here)  rushed  out  from  his  Desk  to 
assure  me  Bank  Stock  had  fallen  because  a  smaller 
Dividend  is  expected.  I  believe  I  am  now  more  con- 
sidered in  the  Town,  as  having  exhibited  this  fore- 
knowledge. 

The  "Town  Hall"  is  being  decorated  with  Flags,  etc., 
for  the  Odd  Fellows  Dinner,  which  comes  off  To-day. 
But  the  Town  itself  is  distracted  with  the  Question  as  to 
where  the  New  School  shall  be;  Bishop  Taylor  having 
persuaded  the  Inspector  to  choose  Land  near  his  (the 
Bishop's)  Estate  down  in  the  lower  Part  of  the  Town 
(at  foot  of  the  sandhill).  So  the  Bishop  walks  about 
enveloped  in  his  virtue,  and  proof  against  all  unchristian 
malevolence. 

I  have  been  in  my  glory  tearing  up  20  Volumes  of 
the  Gentleman's  Magazine  to  get  out  Scraps  of  Mitford 
and  Green's  Diary,  of  which  I  make  Volumes,  and  then 
call  them  my  Works. 

I  have  hung  my  Pictures,  which  are  spoilt  by  a  vile 
Paper. 

V 

(To  W.  F.  Pollock) 

MARKET  HILL,  WOODBRIDGE 
October  28  (1867) 

NOW,  my  dear  Pollock,  I  have  put  on  a  new  Goose- 
quill  Nib,  on  purpose  to  write  my  best  MS  to  you. 
But  the  new  Nib  has  very  little  to  say  for  me:   the  old 
60 


E.  F.G. 

Story:  dodging  about  in  my  Ship  for  these  last  five 
months :  indeed  during  all  that  time  not  having  lain,  I 
believe,  for  three  consecutive  Nights  in  Christian  Sheets. 
But  now  all  that  is  over :  this  very  day  is  my  little  Ship 
being  dismantled,  and  to-morrow  will  she  go  up  to  her 
middle  in  mud,  and  here  am  I  anchored  to  my  old  Desk 
for  the  Winter;  and  beginning,  as  usual,  to  write  to  my 
Friends,  to  tell  them  what  little  there  is  to  tell  of  myself, 
and  asking  them  to  tell  what  they  can  of  themselves  in 
return.  I  shall  even  fire  a  shot  at  old  Spedding;  who 
would  not  answer  my  last  Letters  at  all :  innocent  as 
they  were,  I  am  sure :  and  asking  definite  Questions,  which 
he  once  told  me  he  required  if  I  wanted  any  Answer. 
I  suppose  he  is  now  in  Cumberland.  What  is  become 
of  Bacon  ?  Are  you  one  of  the  Converted,  who  go  the 
whole  Hog  ? 

Thompson  —  no,  I  mean  the  Master  of  Trinity  —  has 
replied  to  my  half-yearly  Enquiries  in  a  very  kind  Letter. 
He  tells  me  that  my  friend  Edward  Cowell  has  pleased 
all  the  Audience  he  had  with  an  inaugural  Lecture  about 
Sanskrit.  Also,  that  there  is  such  an  Article  in  the 
Quarterly  about  the  Talmud  as  has  not  been  seen  (so 
fine  an  Article,  I  mean)  for  years. 

I  have  had  Don  Quixote,  Boccaccio,  and  my  dear 
Sophocles  (once  more)  for  company  on  board:  the  first 
of  these  so  delightful,  that  I  got  to  love  the  very 
Dictionary  in  which  I  had  to  look  out  the  words:  yes, 
and  often  the  same  words  over  and  over  again.  The 
Book  really  seemed  to  me  the  most  delightful  of  all 
Books:  Boccaccio,  delightful  too,  but  millions  of  miles 
behind ;  in  fact,  a  whole  Planet  away. 


61 


The  Second   Post 

VI 

(To  W.  F.  Pollock) 

WOODBRIDGE,  November  n  (1867) 

MY  DEAR  POLLOCK,  —  I  must  thank  you  for  your 
Letter  —  good  Fellow  as  you  were  to  write  it.  I 
must  say  that  you  never  leave  one  long  in  doubt  as  to 
whether  one  is  any  longer  acceptable  or  not. 

Not  like  that  Wretch  Spedding ;  who,  since  I  wrote  you, 
did  write  to  me  at  last,  and  confessed  that  he  slightly  re- 
pented of  not  writing  before.  However,  I  am  contented 
that  he  thinks  it  worth  while  to  think  twice  about  the 
matter.  He  now.  talks  about  two  more  Volumes  of 
Bacon  in  the  Spring :  and  then  he  says  he  will  take 
the  reins  into  his  own  hands,  and  publish  Volume  by 
Volume  as  it  is  finished.  He  is  now  entete  (I  forget  how 
it's  spelt)  about  some  sort  of  Phonetic  Alphabet. 

I  have  not  yet  revived  my  appetite  for  Novels :  not 
even  for  my  dear  "  Woman  in  White  " :  which  I  should  like 
to  have  read  to  me ;  and  which  even  now  exerts  a  sort  of 
magnetism  in  drawing  me  toward  the  corner  of  a  dark 
Cupboard,  or  Closet,  in  which  (like  the  proprietary 
Skeleton)  she  lies. 

I  have  heard  from  Mrs.  Alfred,  who  (as  you  may  know) 
answers  for  Husband  and  Self.  She  does  not  give  a  good 
Account  of  one  Son  (I  believe  the  Eldest) :  and  Frederic 
Tennyson,  who  was  at  Farringford  this  Autumn,  thinks 
them  both  very  delicate.  Is  it  to  be  with  A.  T.,  as  is 
said  to  be  the  Fate  of  your  great  Men :  to  leave  no 
Posterity  ? 

Well  —  and  I  have  heard  from  the  Master  of  Trinity, 
62 


E.  F.G. 

who  encloses  me  a  Leaf  of  Proof-sheet  of  Plato,  with 
good  English  Notes,  corrected,  and  therefore,  I  doubt 
not,  written  by  himself.  The  Page  he  encloses  is  meant 
to  answer  a  Question  I  put  to  him  years  ago.  I  don't 
know  when,  nor  on  what  occasion.  However,  I  find  the 
Question  is  left  ambiguous  even  by  Scholars. 

Are  you  overrun  in  London  with  "Champagne  Charlie 
is  my  Name  "  ?  A  brutal  Thing ;  nearly  worthless  —  the 
Tune,  I  mean  —  but  yet  not  quite  —  else  it  would  not 
become  so  great  a  Bore.  No :  I  can  see,  to  my  Sorrow, 
that  it  has  some  Go  —  which  Mendelssohn  had  not. 
But  Mozart,  Rossini,  and  Handel  had.'  I  can't  help 
thinking  that  Opera  will  have  to  die  for  a  time : 
certainly  there  seems  to  be  no  new  Blood  to  keep  it 
alive :  and  the  Old  Works  of  Genius  want  rest.  I  have 
never  heard  Faust :  only  Bits  —  which  I  suppose  were 
thought  the  best  Bits.  They  were  expressive  —  musically 
ingenious,  etc.  —  but  the  part  of  Hamlet  —  the  one 
Divine  Soul  of  Music,  Melody  —  was  not  there.  I  think 
that  such  a  Fuss  can  be  made  about  it  only  because 
there  is  nothing  better. 

VII 

(To  E.  B.  Cowell) 

WOODBRIDGE,  March  1/69 

Y  DEAR  COWELL,  —  ...  My  Lugger  Captain 
has  just  left  me  to  go  on  his  Mackerel  Voyage 
to  the  Western  Coast ;  and  I  don't  know  when  I  shall  see 
him  again.  Just  after  he  went,  a  muffled  bell  from  the 
Church  here  began  to  toll  for  somebody's  death :  it 
sounded  like  a  Bell  under  the  sea.  He  sat  listening 
to  the  Hymn  played  by  the  Church  chimes  last  evening, 

63 , 


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The  Second   Post 

and  said  he  could  hear  it  all  as  if  in  Lowestoft  Church 
when  he  was  a  Boy,  "Jesus  our  Deliverer"  !  You  can't 
think  what  a  grand,  tender  Soul  this  is,  lodged  in  a 
suitable  carcase. 

VIII 

(To  Fanny  Kemble) 

WOODBRIDGE,  October  17,  1882 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  KEMBLE,  —  I  suppose  that  you 
are  returned  from  the  Loire  by  this  time ;  but  as 
I  am  not  sure  that  you  have  returned  to  the  "Hotel  des 
Deux  Mondes"  whence  you  dated  your  last,  I  make  bold 
once  more  to  trouble  Coutts  with  adding  your  Address 
to  my  Letter.  I  think  I  shall  have  it  from  yourself  not 
long  after.  I  shall  like  to  hear  a  word  about  my  old 
France,  dear  to  me  from  childish  associations,  and  in 
particular  of  the  Loire,  endeared  to  me  by  Sevigne;  for 
I  never  saw  the  glimmer  of  its  waters  myself.  .  .  . 

It  seems  to  me  (but  I  believe  it  seems  so  every  year) 
that  our  trees  keep  their  leaves  very  long ;  I  suppose, 
because  of  no  severe  frosts  or  winds  up  to  this  time. 
And  my  garden  still  shows  some  Geranium,  Sal  via, 
Nasturtium,  Great  Convolvulus,  and  that  grand  African 
Marigold  whose  Colour  is  so  comfortable  to  us  Spanish- 
like  Paddies.  I  have  also  a  dear  Oleander  which  even 
now  has  a  score  of  blossoms  on  it,  and  touches  the  top 
of  my  little  Green-house ;  having  been  sent  me  when 
"haut  comme  ca,"  as  Marquis  Somebody  used  to  say  in 
the  days  of  Louis  xiv.  Don't  you  love  the  Oleander  ?  So 
clean  in  its  leaves  and  stem,  and  so  beautiful  in  its  flower ; 
loving  to  stand  in  water  which  it  drinks  up  so  fast.  I 
rather  worship  mine. 

64 


VI 

ELIA 


The  Failure  of  Godwin's  Play  -Qy        "^        -<O        O 

December  16,  1800 

WE  are  damn'd ! 
Not  the  facetious  epilogue  could  save  us.  For 
as  the  editor  of  the  "Morning  Post,"  quick-sighted  gen- 
tleman !  hath  this  morning  truly  observed  (I  beg  pardon 
if  I  falsify  his  words,  their  profound  sense  I  am  sure 
I  retain),  both  prologue  and  epilogue  were  worthy  of 
accompanying  such  a  piece;  and  indeed  (mark  the 
profundity,  Mister  Manning)  were  received  with  proper 
indignation  by  such  of  the  audience  only  as  thought 
either  worth  attending  to.  PROFESSOR,  thy  glories  wax 
dim!  Again,  the  incomparable  author  of  the  "True 
Briton"  declareth  in  his  paper  (bearing  same  date)  that 
the  epilogue  was  an  indifferent  attempt  at  humour  and 
character,  and  failed  in  both.  I  forbear  to  mention 
the  other  papers,  because  I  have  not  read  them.  O 
PROFESSOR,  how  different  thy  feelings  now  (quantum 
mutatus  ab  illo  professore,  qui  in  agris  philosophic  tantas 
victorias  aquisivisli), — how  different  thy 'proud  feelings 
but  one  little  week  ago,  —  thy  anticipation  of  thy  nine 

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nights,  —  those  visionary  claps,  which  have  soothed  thy 
soul  by  day  and  thy  dreams  by  night !  Calling  in 
accidentally  on  the  Professor  while  he  was  out,  I  was 
ushered  into  the  study;  and  my  nose  quickly  (most 
sagacious  always)  pointed  me  to  four  tokens  lying  loose 
upon  thy  table,  Professor,  which  indicated  thy  violent 
and  satanical  pride  of  heart.  Imprimis,  there  caught 
mine  eye  a  list  of  six  persons,  thy  friends,  whom  thou 
didst  meditate  inviting  to  a  sumptuous  dinner  on  the 
Thursday,  anticipating  the  profits  of  thy  Saturday's  play 
to  answer  charges ;  I  was  in  the  honoured  file !  Next, 
a  stronger  evidence  of  thy  violent  and  almost  satanical 
pride,  lay  a  list  of  all  the  morning  papers  (from  the 
"Morning  Chronicle"  downwards  to  the  "Porcupine,") 
with  the  places  of  their  respective  offices,  where  thou  wast 
meditating  to  insert,  and  didst  insert,  an  elaborate  sketch 
of  the  story  of  thy  play  —  stones  in  thy  enemy's  hand 
to  bruise  thee  with ;  and  severely  wast  thou  bruised, 

0  Professor !   nor  do  I  know  what  oil  to  pour  into  thy 
wounds.     Next,  which  convinced  me  to  a  dead  conviction 
of  thy  pride,  violent  and  almost  satanical  pride  —  lay  a 
list  of  books,  which  thy  un-tragedy-favoured  pocket  could 
never  answer ;  Dodsley's  Old  Plays,  Malone's  Shakspeare 
(still  harping  upon  thy  play,  thy  philosophy  abandoned 
meanwhile  to  Christians  and  superstitious  minds) ;   nay, 

1  believe  (if  I  can  believe  my  memory),  that  the  ambitious 
Encyclopaedia  itself  was  part  of  thy  meditated  acquisi- 
tions ;  but  many  a  playbook  was  there.    All  these  visions 
are  damned  ;  and  thou,  Professor,  must  read  Shakspere  in 
future  out  of  a  common  edition ;  and,  hark  ye,  pray  read 
him   to   a  little  better  purpose !    Last  and  strongest 
against   thee    (in   colours   manifest  as    the   hand   upon 
Belshazzar's  wall),  lay  a  volume  of  poems  by  C.  Lloyd 

66 


Elia 

and  C.  Lamb.  Thy  heart  misgave  thee,  that  thy  assistant 
might  possibly  not  have  talent  enough  to  furnish  thee 
an  epilogue !  Manning,  all  these  things  came  over  my 
mind;  all  the  gratulations  that  would  have  thickened 
upon  him,  and  even  some  have  glanced  aside  upon  his 
humble  friend  ;  the  vanity,  and  the  fame,  and  the  profits 
(the  Professor  is  £500  ideal  money  out  of  pocket  by  this 
failure,  besides  £200  he  would  have  got  for  the  copyright, 
and  the  Professor  is  never  much  beforehand  with  the 
world ;  what  he  gets  is  all  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow  and 
dint  of  brain,  for  the  Professor,  though  a  sure  man,  is 
also  a  slow) ;  and  now  to  muse  upon  thy  altered  physiog- 
nomy, thy  pale  and  squalid  appearance  (a  kind  of  blue 
sickness  about  the  eyelids),  and  thy  crest  fallen,  and  thy 
proud  demand  of  £200  from  thy  bookseller  changed 
to  an  uncertainty  of  his  taking  it  at  all,  or  giving  thee 
full  £50.  The  Professor  has  woa  my  heart  by  this  his 
mournful  catastrophe.  You  remember  Marshall,  who 
dined  with  him  at  my  house ;  I  met  him  in  the  lobby 
immediately  after  the  damnation  of  the  Professor's  play, 
and  he  looked  to  me  like  an  angel :  his  face  was 
lengthened,  and  ALL  OVER  SWEAT  ;  I  never  saw  such  a 
care-fraught  visage ;  I  could  have  hugged  him,  I  loved 
him  so  intensely.  "From  every  pore  of  him  a  perfume 
fell."  I  have  seen  that  man  in  many  situations,  and  from 
my  soul  I  think  that  a  more  god-like  honest  soul  exists 
not  in  this  world.  The  Professor's  poor  nerves  trembling 
with  the  recent  shock,  he  hurried  him  away  to  my  house 
to  supper ;  and  there  we  comforted  him  as  well  as  we 
could.  He  came  to  consult  me  about  a  change  of 
catastrophe ;  but  alas !  the  piece  was  condemned  long 
before  that  crisis.  I  at  first  humoured  him  with  a 
specious  proposition,  but  have  since  joined  his  true  friends 
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in  advising  him  to  give  it  up.     He  did  it  with  a  pang, 
and  is  to  print  it  as  his.  L. 

n 

Brawn  xvi>'        *^v        ^x         xv>         *^>        "C^         ^^ 

1 6  MITRE-COURT  BUILDINGS 
Saturday,  February  24  [i.e.  23],  1805 

DEAR  MANNING,  —  I  have  been  very  unwell  since 
I  saw  you.  A  sad  depression  of  spirits,  a  most 
unaccountable  nervousness;  from  which  I  have  been 
partially  relieved  by  an  odd  accident.  You  knew  Dick 
Hopkins,  the  swearing  scullion  of  Caius  ?  This  fellow, 
by  industry  and  agility,  has  thrust  himself  into  the 
important  situations  (no  sinecures,  believe  me)  of  cook 
to  Trinity  Hall  and  Caius  College :  and  the  generous 
creature  has  contrived  with  the  greatest  delicacy 
imaginable,  to  send  me  a  present  of  Cambridge  brawn. 
What  makes  it  the  more  extraordinary  is,  that  the  man 
never  saw  me  in  his  life  that  I  know  of.  I  suppose  he 
has  heard  of  me.  I  did  not  immediately  recognise  the 
donor ;  but  one  of  Richard's  cards,  which  had  acci- 
dentally fallen  into  the  straw,  detected  him  in  a  moment. 
Dick,  you  know,  was  always  remarkable  for  flourishing. 
His  card  imports,  that  "orders  (to  wit,  for  brawn),  from 
any  part  of  England,  Scotland,  or  Ireland,  will  be  duly 
executed,"  etc.  At  first,  I  thought  of  declining  the 
present;  but  Richard  knew  my  blind  side  when  he 
pitched  upon  brawn.  'Tis  of  all  my  hobbies  the  supreme 
in  the  eating  way.  He  might  have  sent  sops  from  the 
pan,  skimmings,  crumplets,  chips,  hog's  lard,  the  tender 
brown  judiciously  scalped  from  a  fillet  of  veal  (dexterously 
68 


Elia 

replaced  by  a  salamander),  the  tops  of  asparagus,  fugitive 
livers,  runaway  gizzards  of  fowls,  the  eyes  of  martyred 
pigs,  tender  effusions  of  laxative  woodcocks,  the  red 
spawn  of  lobsters,  leverets'  ears,  and  such  pretty  filchings 
common  to  cooks ;  but  these  had  been  ordinary  presents, 
the  everyday  courtesies  of  dishwashers  to  their  sweet- 
hearts. Brawn  was  a  noble  thought.  It  is  not  every 
common  gullet-fancier  that  can  properly  esteem  it.  It 
is  like  a  picture  of  one  of  the  choice  old  Italian  masters. 
Its  gusto  is  of  that  hidden  sort.  As  Wordsworth  sings 
of  a  modest  poet,  —  "you  must  love  him,  ere  to  you  he 
will  seem  worthy  of  your  love;"  so  brawn,  you  must 
taste  it,  ere  to  you  it  will  seem  to  have  any  taste  at  all. 
But  'tis  nuts  to  the  adept :  those  that  will  send  out  their 
tongues  and  feelers  to  find  it  out.  It  will  be  wooed,  and 
not  unsought  be  won.  Now,  ham-essence,  lobsters,  turtle, 
such  popular  minions,  absolutely  court  you,  lay  them- 
selves out  to  strike  you  at  first  smack,  like  one  of  David's 
pictures  (they  call  him  Darveed),  compared  with  the  . 
plain  russet-coated  wealth  of  a  Titian  or  a  Correggio, 
as  I  illustrated  above.  Such  are  the  obvious  glaring 
heathen  virtues  of  a  corporation  dinner,  compared  with 
the  reserved  collegiate  worth  of  brawn.  Do  me  the 
favour  to  leave  off  the  business  which  you  may  be  at 
present  upon,  and  go  immediately  to  the  kitchens  of 
Trinity  and  Caius,  and  make  my  most  respectful  com- 
pliments to  Mr.  Richard  Hopkins,  and  assure  him  that 
his  brawn  is  most  excellent ;  and  that  I  am  moreover 
obliged  to  him  for  his  innuendo  about  salt  water  and 
bran,  which  I  shall  not  fail  to  improve.  I  leave  it  to  you 
whether  you  shall  choose  to  pay  him  the  civility  of  asking 
him  to  dinner  while  you  stay  in  Cambridge,  or  in  what- 
ever other  way  you  may  best  like  to  show  your  gratitude 
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The  Second  Post 

to  my  friend.  Richard  Hopkins,  considered  in  many 
points  of  view,  is  a  very  extraordinary  character.  Adieu : 
I  hope  to  see  you  to  supper  in  London  soon,  where  we 
will  taste  Richard's  brawn,  and  drink  his  health  in  a 
cheerful  but  moderate  cup.  We  have  not  many  such 
men  in  any  rank  of  life  as  Mr.  R.  Hopkins.  Crisp  the 
barber,  of  St.  Mary's  was  just  such  another.  I  wonder 
he  never  sent  me  any  little  token,  some  chestnuts,  or  a 
puff,  or  two  pound  of  hair  just  to  remember  him  by; 
gifts  are  like  nails.  Prcesens  ut  absens,  that  is,  your 
present  makes  amends  for  your  absence.  —  Yours, 

C.  LAMB 

ni 

All  the  news,  for  China  ^>        ^>        *^>        <i* 

March  28,  1809 

DEAR  MANNING,  —  I  sent  you  a  long  letter  by 
the  ships  which  sailed  the  beginning  of  last  month, 
accompanied  with  books,  etc.  Since  I  last  wrote, 
Holcroft  is  dead.  He  died  on  Thursday  last.  So  there 
is  one  of  your  friends  whom  you  will  never  see  again ! 
Perhaps  the  next  fleet  may  bring  you  a  letter  from 
Martin  Burney,  to  say  that  he  writes  by  desire  of  Miss 
Lamb,  who  is  not  well  enough  to  write  herself,  to  inform 
you  that  her  brother  died  on  Thursday  last,  i4th  June,  etc. 
But  I  hope  not.  I  should  be  sorry  to  give  occasion  to 
open  a  correspondence  between  Martin  and  you.  This 
letter  must  be  short,  for  I  have  driven  it  off  to  the  very 
moment  of  doing  up  the  packets;  and  besides,  that 
which  I  refer  to  above  is  a  very  long  one;  and  if  you 
have  received  my  books,  you  will  have  enough  to  do  to 
70 


Elia 

read  them.  While  I  think  on  it,  let  me  tell  you  we  are 
moved.  Don't  come  any  more  to  Mitre  Court  Buildings. 
We  are  at  34  Southampton  Buildings,  Chancery  Lane, 
and  shall  be  here  till  about  the  end  of  May :  then  we 
remove  to  No.  4  Inner  Temple  Lane,  where  I  mean  to 
live  and  die ;  for  I  have  such  horror  of  moving,  that  I 
would  not  take  a  benefice  from  the  King,  if  I  was  not 
indulged  with  non-residence.  What  a  dislocation  of 
comfort  is  comprised  in  that  word  moving !  Such  a 
heap  of  little  nasty  things,  after  you  think  all  is  got  into 
the  cart:  old  dredging-boxes,  worn-out  brushes,  gallipots, 
vials,  things  that  it  is  impossible  the  most  necessitous 
person  can  ever  want,  but  which  the  women,  who  preside 
on  these  occasions,  will  not  leave  behind  if  it  was  to  save 
your  soul ;  they'd  keep  the  cart  ten  minutes  to  stow  in 
dirty  pipes  and  broken  matches,  to  show  their  economy. 
Then  you  can  find  nothing  you  want  for  many  days  after 
you  get  into  your  new  lodgings.  You  must  comb  your 
hair  with  your  fingers,  wash  your  hands  without  soap,  go 
about  in  dirty  gaiters.  Was  I  Diogenes,  I  would  not  move 
out  of  a  kilderkin  into  a  hogshead,  though  the  first  had 
had  nothing  but  small  beer  in  it,  and  the  second  reeked 
claret.  Our  place  of  final  destination,  —  I  don't  mean  the 
grave,  but  No.  2  [4]  Inner  Temple  Lane,  —  looks  out  upon 
a  gloomy  churchyard-like  court,  called  Hare  Court,  with 
three  trees  and  a  pump  in  it.  Do  you  know  it  ?  I  was 
born  near  it,  and  used  to  drink  at  that  pump  when  I  was 
a  Rechabite  of  six  years  old.  If  you  see  newspapers 
you  will  read  about  Mrs.  Clarke.  The  sensation  in 
London  about  this  nonsensical  business  is  marvellous.  I 
remember  nothing  in  my  life  like  it.  Thousands  of 
ballads,  caricatures,  lives,  of  Mrs.  Clarke,  in  every  blind 
alley.  Yet  in  the  midst  of  this  stir,  a  sublime  abstracted 

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The  Second  Post 

dancing-master,  who  attends  a  family  we  know  in 
Kensington,  being  asked  a  question  about  the  progress 
of  the  examination  in  the  House,  inquired  who  Mrs. 
Clarke  was?  He  had  heard  nothing  of  it.  He  had 
evaded  this  omnipresence  by  utter  insignificancy  !  The 
Duke  should  make  that  man  his  confidential  valet.  I 
proposed  locking  him  up,  barring  him  the  use  of  his 
fiddle  and  red  pumps,  until  he  had  minutely  perused  and 
committed  to  memory  the  whole  body  of  the  examina- 
tions, which  employed  the  House  of  Commons  a  fortnight, 
to  teach  him  to  be  more  attentive  to  what  concerns  the 
public.  I  think  I  told  you  of  Godwin's  little  book,  and  of 
Coleridge's  prospectus,  in  my  last;  if  I  did  not,  remind 
me  of  it,  and  I  will  send  you  them,  or  an  account  of  them, 
next  fleet.  I  have  no  conveniency  of  doing  it  by  this. 

Mrs. *  grows  every  day  in  disfavour  with  God  and 

man.  I  will  be  buried  with  this  inscription  over  me :  — 
"Here  lies  C.  L.,  the  Woman-hater"  —  I  mean  that  hated 
ONE  WOMAN  :  for  the  rest,  God  bless  them,  and  when  he 
makes  any  more,  make  'em  prettier.  How  do  you  like 
the  Mandarinesses  ?  Are  you  on  some  little  footing  with 
any  of  them  ?  This  is  Wednesday.  On  Wednesdays  is 
my  levee.  The  Captain,  Martin,  Phillips  (not  the  Sheriff), 
Rickman,  and  some  more,  are  constant  attendants, 
besides  stray  visitors.  We  play  at  whist,  eat  cold 
meat  and  hot  potatoes,  and  any  gentleman  that  chooses 
smokes.  Why  do  you  never  drop  in  ?  You'll  come  some 
day,  won't  you  ?  C.  LAMB,  etc. 

1  Probably  Mrs.  Godwin. 


Elia 

IV 
Tommy  Bye      -^        "v>        ^y        <^x        -<o        -<iy 

May  28,  1819 

JV/T  Y  DEAR  MfANNING],—  I  want  to  know  howyour 
•!-*-»•  brother  is,  it  you  have  heard  lately.  I  want  to 
know  about  you.  I  wish  you  were  nearer.  How  are  my 
cousins,  the  Gladmans  of  Wheathamstead,  and  farmer 
Bruton  ?  Mrs.  Bruton  is  a  glorious  woman. 

Hail,  Mackery  End  — 

This  is  a  fragment  of  a  blank  verse  poem  which  I  once 
meditated,  but  got  no  further.  The  E.  I.  H.  has  been 
thrown  into  a  quandary  by  the  strange  phenomenon  of 
poor  Tommy  Bye,  whom  I  have  known  man  and  mad- 
man twenty-seven  years,  he  being  elder  here  than  myself 
by  nine  years  and  more.  He  was  always  a  pleasant, 
gossiping,  half-headed,  muzzy,  dozing,  dreaming,  walk- 
about, inoffensive  chap ;  a  little  too  fond  of  the  creature  — 
who  isn't  at  times  ?  ; —  but  Tommy  had  not  brains  to  work 
off  an  over-night's  surfeit  by  ten  o'clock  next  morning,  and 
unfortunately,  in  he  wandered  the  other  morning  drunk 
with  last  night,  and  with  a  superfoetation  of  drink  taken 
in  since  he  set  out  from  bed.  He  came  staggering 
under  his  double  burthen,  like  trees  in  Java,  bearing  at 
once  blossom,  fruit,  and  falling  fruit,  as  I  have  heard  you 
or  some  other  traveller  tell,  with  his  face  literally  as  blue 
as  the  bluest  firmament;  some  wretched  calico  that  he 
had  mopped  his  poor  oozy  front  with  had  rendered  up 
its  native  dye,  and  the  devil  a  bit  would  he  consent  to 
wash  it,  but  swore  was  it  characteristic,  for  he  was  going 
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The  Second   Post 

to  the  sale  of  indigo,  and  set  up  a  laugh  which  I  did  not 
think  the  lungs  of  mortal  man  were  competent  to.  It 
was  like  a  thousand  people  laughing,  or  the  Goblin  Page. 
He  imagined  afterwards  that  the  whole  office  had  been 
laughing  at  him,  so  strange  did  his  own  sounds  strike  upon 
his  mwsensorium.  But  Tommy  has  laughed  his  last 
laugh,  and  awoke  the  next  day  to  find  himself  reduced 
from  an  abused  income  of  £600  per  annum  to  one-sixth 
of  the  sum,  after  thirty-six  years'  tolerably  good  service. 
The  quality  of  mercy  was  not  strained  in  his  behalf ;  the 
gentle  dews  dropt  not  on  him  from  heaven.  It  just  came 
across  me  that  I  was  writing  to  Canton.  How  is  Ball  ? 

"  Mr.  B.  is  a  P ."     Will  you  drop  in  to-morrow  night  ? 

Fanny  Kelly  is  coming,  if  she  does  not  cheat  us.  Mrs. 
Gold  is  well,  but  proves  "uncoined,"  as  the  lovers  about 
Wheathampstead  would  say. 

O  hard  hearted  Burrell 
With  teeth  like  a  squirrel  — 

I  have  not  had  such  a  quiet  half  hour  to  sit  down  to  a 
quiet  letter  for  many  years.  I  have  not  been  interrupted 
above  four  times.  I  wrote  a  letter  the  other  day  in 
alternate  lines,  black  ink  and  red,  and  you  cannot  think 
how  it  chilled  the  flow  of  ideas.  Next  Monday  is  Whit- 
Monday.  What  a  reflection !  Twelve  years  ago,  and  I 
should  have  kept  that  and  the  following  holiday  in  the 
fields  a-Maying.  All  of  those  pretty  pastoral  delights 
are  over.  This  dead,  everlasting  dead  desk  —  how  it 
weighs  the  spirit  of  a  gentleman  down !  This  dead  wood 
of  the  desk  instead  of  your  living  trees !  But  then, 
again,  I  hate  the  Joskins,  a  name  for  Hertfordshire 
bumpkins.  Each  state  of  life  has  its  inconvenience; 
but  then,  again,  mine  has  more  than  one.  Not  that  I 

74 


Elia 

repine,  or  grudge,  or  murmur  at  my  destiny.  I  have 
meat  and  drink,  and  decent  apparel ;  I  shall,  at  least, 
when  I  get  a  new  hat. 

A  red-haired  man  has  just  interrupted  me.  He  has 
broke  the  current  of  my  thoughts.  I  haven't  a  word  to 
add.  I  don't  know  why  I  send  this  letter,  but  I  have 
had  a  hankering  to  hear  about  you  some  days.  Perhaps 
it  will  go  off  before  your  reply  comes.  If  it  don't,  I 
assure  you  no  letter  was  ever  welcomer  from  you,  from 
Paris  or  Macao.  C.  LAMB 


The  Little  Pig  ^>-        ^>        <^        ^y        "O        *o 

(To  S.  T.  Coleridge) 

March  9,  1822 

T^EAR  C.,  —  It  gives  me  great  satisfaction  to  hear 
*-S  that  the  pig  turned  out  so  well  —  they  are  interest- 
ing creatures  at  a  certain  age  —  what  a  pity  such  buds 
should  blow  out  into  the  maturity  of  rank  bacon !  You 
had  all  some  of  the  crackling  —  and  brain  sauce  —  did  you 
remember  to  rub  it  with  butter,  and  gently  dredge  it  a 
little,  just  before  the  crisis?  Did  the  eyes  come  away 
kindly  with  no  CF.dipean  avulsion  ?  Was  the  crackling 
the  colour  of  the  ripe  pomegranate  ?  Had  you  no  com- 
plement of  boiled  neck  of  mutton  before  it,  to  blunt  the 
edge  of  delicate  desire  ?  Did  you  flesh  maiden  teeth  in 
it?  Not  that  I  sent  the  pig,  or  can  form  the  remotest 
guess  what  part  Owen  could  play  in  the  business.  I 
never  knew  him  give  anything  away  in  my  life.  He 
would  not  begin  with  strangers.  I  suspect  the  pig, 
after  all,  was  meant  for  me ;  but  at  the  unlucky  juncture 

75 


The  Second   Post 

of  time  being  absent,  the  present  somehow  went  round 
to  Highgate.  To  confess  an  honest  truth,  a  pig  is  one 
of  those  things  I  could  never  think  of  sending  away. 
Teals,  wigeons,  snipes,  barn-door  fowl,  ducks,  geese  — 
your  tame  villa  tic  things  —  Welsh  mutton,  collars  of 
brawn,  sturgeon,  fresh  or  pickled,  your  potted  char, 
Swiss  cheeses,  French  pies,  early  grapes,  muscadines, 
I  impart  as  freely  unto  my  friends  as  to  myself.  They 
are  but  self-extended ;  but  pardon  me  if  I  stop  some- 
where —  where  the  fine  feeling  of  benevolence  giveth  a 
higher  smack  than  the  sensual  rarity  —  there  my  friends 
(or  any  good  man)  may  command  me ;  but  pigs  are 
pigs,  and  I  myself  therein  am  nearest  to  myself.  Nay, 
I  should  think  it  an  affront,  an  undervaluing  done  to 
Nature  who  bestowed  such  a  boon  upon  me,  if  in  a 
churlish  mood  I  parted  with  the  precious  gift.  One  of 
the  bitterest  pangs  of  remorse  I  ever  felt  was  when  a 
child  —  when  my  kind  old  aunt  had  strained  her  pocket- 
strings  to  bestow  a  sixpenny  whole  plum-cake  upon  me. 
In  my  way  home  through  the  Borough,  I  met  a 
venerable  old  man,  not  a  mendicant,  but  thereabouts  — 
a  look-beggar,  not  a  verbal  petitionist;  and  in  the 
coxcombry  of  taught-charity  I  gave  away  the  cake  to 
him.  I  walked  on  a  little  in  all  the  pride  of  an 
Evangelical  peacock,  when  of  a  sudden  my  old  aunt's 
kindness  crossed  me  —  the  sum  it  was  to  her  —  the 
pleasure  she  had  a  right  to  expect  that  I  —  not  the  old 
impostor  —  should  take  in  eating  her  cake  —  the  cursed 
ingratitude  by  which,  under  the  colour  of  a  Christian 
virtue,  I  had  frustrated  her  cherished  purpose.  I 
sobbed,  wept,  and  took  it  to  heart  so  grievously,  that 
I  think  I  never  suffered  the  like  —  and  I  was  right.  It 
was  a  piece  of  unfeeling  hypocrisy,  and  proved  a  lesson 
76 


Elia 

to  me  ever  after.  The  cake  has  long  been  masticated, 
consigned  to  dunghill  with  the  ashes  of  that  unseason- 
able pauper. 

But  when  Providence,  who  is  better  to  us  all  than 
our  aunts,  gives  me  a  pig,  remembering  my  temptation 
and  my  fall,  I  shall  endeavour  to  act  towards  it  more 
in  the  spirit  of  the  donor's  purpose. 

Yours  (short  of  pig)  to  command  in  everything. 

C.  L. 

VI 
The  Toast    "^        xc>         <^>         ^^         *v>         <^ 

(To  Miss  Hutchinson) 

/APROPOS  of  birds  —  the  other  day  at  a  large  dinner, 
being  call'd  upon  for  a  toast,  I  gave,  as  the  best 
toast  I  knew,  "Wood-cock  toast,"  which  was  drunk  with 
3  cheers.  —  Yours  affect'ly, 

C.  LAMB 

VII 
Sunday       -^         *^y         x^         /<o         *o         *^y 

(To  J.  B.  Dibdin) 
An  answer  is  requested. 

[P.M.  September  9,  1826] 
Saturday 

DEAR  DflBDIN],  —  I  have  observed  that  a  Letter 
is    never    more    acceptable    than    when   received 
upon  a  rainy  day,  especially  a   rainy  Sunday;   which 
moves  me  to  send  you  somewhat,  however  short.     This 
will  find  you  sitting  after  Breakfast,  which  you  will  have 

77 


The  Second   Post 

prolonged  as  far  as  you  can  with  consistency  to  the  poor 
handmaid  that  has  the  reversion  of  the  Tea  Leaves; 
making  two  nibbles  of  your  last  morsel  of  stale  roll 
(you  cannot  have  hot  new  ones  on  the  Sabbath),  and 
reluctantly  coming  to  an  end,  because  when  that  is 
done,  what  can  you  do  till  dinner?  You  cannot  go  to 
the  Beach,  for  the  rain  is  drowning  the  sea,  turning  rank 
Thetis  fresh,  taking  the  brine  out  of  Neptune's  pickles, 
while  mermaids  sit  upon  rocks  with  umbrellas,  their 
ivory  combs  sheathed  for  spoiling  in  the  wet  of  waters 
foreign  to  them.  You  cannot  go  to  the  library,  for  it's 
shut.  You  are  not  religious  enough  to  go  to  church. 
O  it  is  worth  while  to  cultivate  piety  to  the  gods,  to  have 
something  to  fill  the  heart  up  on  a  wet  Sunday !  You 
cannot  cast  accounts,  for  your  ledger  is  being  eaten  up 
with  moths  in  the  Ancient  Jewry.  You  cannot  play  at 
•draughts,  for  there  is  none  to  play  with  you,  and  besides 
there  is  not  a  draught-board  in  the  house.  You  cannot 
go  to  market,  for  it  closed  last  night.  *  You  cannot  look  in 
to  the  shops,  their  backs  are  shut  upon  you.  You  cannot 
read  the  Bible,  for  it  is  not  good  reading  for  the  sick 
and  the  hypochondriacal.  You  cannot  while  away  an 
hour  with  a  friend,  for  you  have  no  friend  round  that 
Wrekin.  You  cannot  divert  yourself  with  a  stray 
acquaintance,  for  you  have  picked  none  up.  You 
cannot  bear  the  chiming  of  Be11  for  they  invite 
you  to  a  banquet,  where  you  are  no  visitant.  You 
cannot  cheer  yourself  with  the  prospect  of  a  to- 
morrow's letter,  for  none  come  on  Mondays.  You 
cannot  count  those  endless  vials  on  the  mantlepiece 
with  any  hope  of  making  a  variation  in  their  numbers. 
You  have  counted  your  spiders :  your  Bastile  is  ex- 
hausted. You  sit  and  deliberately  curse  your  hard 
78 


Elia 

exile  from  all  familiar  sights  and  sounds.  Old  Ranking 
poking  in  his  head  unexpectedly  would  just  now  be  as 
good  to  you  as  Grimaldi.  Any  thing  to  deliver  you  from 
this  intolerable  weight  of  Ennui.  You  are  too  ill  to 
shake  it  off:  not  ill  enough  to  submit  to  it,  and  to  lie 
down  as  a  lamb  under  it.  The  Tyranny  of  Sickness  is 
nothing  to  the  Cruelty  of  Convalescence:  'tis  to  have 
Thirty  Tyrants  for  one.  That  pattering  rain  drops  on 
your  brain.  You'll  be  worse  after  dinner,  for  you  must 
dine  at  one  to-day,  that  Betty  may  go  to  afternoon 
service.  She  insists  upon  having  her  chopped  hay. 
And  then  when  she  goes  out,  who  was  something  to  you, 
something  to  speak  to  —  what  an  interminable  afternoon 
you'll  have  to  go  thro'.  You  can't  break  yourself  from 
your  locality  :  you  cannot  say  "To-morrow  morning  I  set 
off  for  Banstead,  by  God":  for  you  are  book'd  for 
Wednesday.  Foreseeing  this,  I  thought  a  cheerful 
letter  would  come  in  opportunely.  If  any  of  the  little 
topics  for  mirth  I  have  thought  upon  should  serve  you 
in  this  utter  extinguishment  of  sunshine,  to  make  you 
a  little  merry,  I  shall  have  had  my  ends.  I  love  to 
make  things  comfortable.  [Here  is  an  erasure.]  This, 
which  is  scratch'd  out,  was  the  most  material  thing  I 
had  to  say.  But  on  maturer  thoughts  I  defer  it. 

P.S.  —  We  are  just  sitting  down  to  dinner  with  a 
pleasant  party,  Coleridge,  Reynolds  the  dramatist,  and 
Sam  Bloxam :  to-morrow  (that  is,  to-day),  Liston,  and 
Wyat  of  the  Wells,  dine  with  us.  May  this  find  you  as 
jolly  and  freakish  as  we  mean  to  be. 

C.  LAMB 


7Q 


VII 

RURAL  FELICITY 

Thomas  Gray  tells  the  Rev.  James   Brown  of   chaos 
and  cream  ^x        ^>        ^Cy        <^        *^        ^^ 

OLD  PARK,  July  19,  1762 

DEAR  SIR,  —  After  my  fortnight's  residence  at  York, 
I  am  arrived  here.  The  Precentor  is  very  hope- 
fully improved  in  dignity.  His  scarf  sets  the  fullest 
about  his  ears ;  his  surplice  has  the  most  the  air  of  lawn- 
sleeves  you  can  imagine  in  so  short  a  time ;  he  begins 
to  complain  of  qualms  and  indigestions  from  repose  and 
repletion :  in  short,  il  tranche  du  Prelat.  We  went  twice 
a-day  to  church  with  our  vergers  and  all  our  pomp. 
Here  the  scene  is  totally  altered :  we  breakfast  at  six 
in  the  morning,  and  go  to  bed  at  ten.  The  house  rings 
all  days  with  carpenters  and  upholsterers,  and  without 
doors  we  swarm  with  labourers  and  builders.  The  books 
are  not  yet  unpacked,  and  there  is  but  one  pen  in  the 
house.  Jetty  and  Fadge  (two  favourite  sows)  are  always 
coming  into  the  entry,  and  there  is  a  concert  of  poultry 
under  every  window:  we  take  in  no  newspaper  or 
magazine,  but  the  cream  and  butter  is  beyond  compare. 
You  are  wished  for  every  day,  and  you  may  imagine  how 
acceptable  a  correspondent  you  must  be.  Pray  write 
soon,  and  believe  me  ever  sincerely  yours,  T.  G. 

80 


Rural  Felicity 

Thomas     Gray    provides     Wharton     with     a    garden 
calendar     ^>        ^>        ^y        "vi-        •^y        ^> 
SATURDAY,  July  21,  1759 

DEAR  DOCTOR,  —  I  have  at  last  found  rest  for  the 
sole  of  my  gouty  foot  in  your  old  dining-room,  and 
hope  in  spite  of  the  damnation  denounced  by  the  bishop's 
two  chaplains,  that  you  may  find  at  least  an  equal  satis- 
faction and  repose  at  Old  Park.  If  your  bog  prove  as 
comfortable  as  my  oven,  I  shall  see  no  occasion  to  pity 
you ;  and  only  wish  that  you  may  brew  no  worse  than  I 
bake.  You  totally  mistake  my  talents,  when  you  impute 
to  me  any  magical  skill  in  planting  roses.  I  know,  I  am 
no  conjuror  in  these  things ;  when  they  are  done,  I  can 
find  no  fault,  and  that  is  all.  Now  this  is  the  very  reverse 
of  genius,  and  I  feel  my  own  littleness.  Reasonable 
people  know  themselves  better  than  is  commonly 
imagined;  and  therefore  (though  I  never  saw  any 
instance  of  it)  I  believe  Mason,  when  he  tells  me  he 
understands  planting  better  than  anything  whatever. 
The  prophetic  eye  of  taste  (as  Mr.  Pitt  call'd  it)  sees  all 
the  beauties  that  a  place  is  susceptible  of,  long  before 
they  are  born ;  and  when  it  plants  a  seedling,  already  sits 
under  the  shadow  of  it,  and  enjoys  the  effect  it  will  have 
from  every  point  of  view  that  lies  in  prospect.  You  must 
therefore  invoke  Caractacus,  and  he  will  send  his  spirits 
from  the  top  of  Snowden  to  Cross  Fell  or  Warden  Law. 

The  thermometer  is  in  the  passage  window  (where  the 
sun  never  comes)  near  the  head  of  the  back  stairs.  Since 
you  went,  I  have  never  observed  it  lower  than  68,  most 
part  of  the  day  at  74^  and  yesterday  at  5  in  the  after- 
noon it  was  at  79,  the  highest  I  have  ever  seen  it.  It 
now  is  prepared  to  correspond  regularly  with  you  at  the 
hours  you  mention.  The  weather  for  this  fortnight  has 
G  81 


The  Second  Post 

been  broiling  without  interruption,  one  thunder-shower 
excepted,  which  did  not  cool  the  air  at  all.  Rye  (I  am 
told)  is  begun  to  be  cut  near  London.  In  Cambridgeshire 
a  fortnight  ago  the  promise  of  harvest  was  the  finest  I 
ever  saw,  but  the  farmers  complain  (I  hear)  that  the  ears 
do  not  fill  for  want  of  wet.  The  wheat  was  then  turning 
yellow.  Duke-cherries  are  over  in  London ;  three  days 
ago  they  sold  for  half-a-crown  a  pound.  Caroons  and 
Blackhearts  very  large  and  fine  drive  about  the  streets 
in  wheel-barrows  a  penny  a  pound.  Raspberries  a  few 
are  yet  remaining,  but  in  a  manner  over.  Melons  are 
ripe,  and  apricots  and  Orleans-plums  are  to  be  seen  in 
the  fruit-shops.  Roses  are  (I  think)  over  a  week  ago. 
The  jessamine  (at  Mrs.  Dod's,  on  a  S.W.  wall)  was  in 
full  bloom  (if  you  remember)  long  before  you  went  from 
hence,  and  so  it  continues.  That  below  in  the  garden 
on  a  N.E.  wall  has  been  all  this  week  covered  in  flowers. 
My  nosegays  from  Covent  Garden  consist  of  nothing  but 
scarlet  martagons,  everlasting-peas,  double-stocks,  pinks 
and  flowering  marjoram.  As  I  have  kept  no  exact 
account  hitherto  this  year,  I  can  say  no  more  of  July, 
that  now  is.  Therefore,  I  shall  annex  one  for  the  year 
1754,  which  I  observed  day  by  day  at  Stoke.  Observe, 
it  had  been  then  a  cold  rainy  summer. 

The  heat  was  very  moderate  this  month,  and  a  great 
deal  of  rain  fell.  The  sown  hay  was  all  got  in  by  the 
first  day,  but  the  meadow-hay  was  not  before  the  23rd. 
It  was  very  good  and  in  plenty,  but  sold  at  40  shillings 
a  load  in  the  field  on  account  of  the  scarcity  the  year 
preceding.  Barley  was  in  the  ear  on  the  first  day ;  grey 
and  white  peas  in  bloom.  The  bean  flowers  were  going 
off.  Duke-cherries  in  plenty  on  the  5th;  hearts  were 
also  ripe.  Green  melons  on  the  6th,  but  watry  and  not 
82 


Rural  Felicity 


sweet.  Currants  begun  to  ripen  on  the  8th,  and  red  goose- 
berries had  changed  colour ;  tares  were  then  in  flower, 
and  meadow-hay  cutting.  Lime-trees  in  full  bloom  on 
the  gth.  Mushroom  in  perfection  on  the  i7th.  Wheat 
and  oats  had  changed  colour,  and  buck-wheat  was  in 
bloom  on  the  igth.  The  vine  had  then  opened  its 
blossoms,  and  the  end  of  the  month  grapes  were  near 
the  size  of  small  peas.  Turnips  appeared  above  ground 
on  the  22nd;  and  potatoes  were  in  flower.  Barley  had 
changed  its  hue,  and  rye  was  almost  ripe  on  the  23rd. 
The  pineapple-strawberry  was  then  in  perfection.  Black 
caroons  were  ripe,  and  some  duke-cherries  still  remained 
on  walls  the  26th,  but  the  hearts  were  then  all  spoiled  by 
rain.  Gooseberries  red  and  white  were  then  ripe,  and 
currants  in  abundance. 


On  the  ist 
Haws,  turned  red 
Honey-suckles,  in  full  bloom 
Broomflower  went  off 

On  the  2nd 
Phlomis,  or  yellow-tree-sage 

On  the  3rd 
Virginia  flowering   Raspberry, 

blew 

Shrub  cinque-foil 
Spirsea-frutex 
Syring^a  went  off 

On  the  7th 
Balm  of  Gilead  blowing 

On  the  8th 

Common  Jasmine  blew 
Moss-Provence  Rose 
Yellow  and  Austrian  Roses  go  off 


On  the  gth 

Yellow  Jasmine  blows 
White,  and  Gum  Cistus 
Tamarisk  in  flower 
Coccygria 
Virginia-Sumach 
Tutsan,  or  Park-leaves 
Spanish- Broom 
Scarlet,  and  painted  Geraniums 

On  the  nth 
Pyracantha,  in  berry 
Mountain-Ash 
White-Beam 
Orange  flowering 
Winter  Cherry 

On  the  i  sth 
Single  Velvet  Rose  goes  off 

On  the  22nd 
Lavender  and  Morjoram  blow 


The  Second  Post 


On  the   26th 

Damask,  red,  moss,  and  double 
Velvet,  Roses  go  off 

On  the  28th 

Rosa-Mundi,  and  Rose  without 
Thorns,  go  off 


On  the  3ist 
White  Rose  goes  off 

These   were    all    the  flowering 
Shrubs  observed  by  me 


GARDEN  FLOWERS 


On  the  2nd 

Convolvus  Minor  blows 
Garden  Poppy 
Single  Rose  Campion 
Double  Larkspur 
Candy  Tuft 
Common  Marigold 
Pansies  continue  blowing 

On  the  sth 

Lupins  blew,  and  white  blow 
Purple  Toads-flax 
White,  and  blue  Campanula 

On  the  gth 

Double-scarlet  Lychnis  blows 
Tree  Primrose 
White  Lilly 
Willow-Bay 
Scarlet  Bean 
French  Marigold 

On  the  nth 
Yellow  Lupin  blows 
Tree-Mallow 
Amaranthus  Cat's-tail 


On  the  igth 
Striped  Lilly  blows 
Fairchild's  Mule 
Double  rose-Campion 
African  Ragwort 

On  the  23rd 
Whole  Carnations  blow 

On  the  24th 
Double-white  Stock  in  bloom 

In  the  Fields  Scabious,  St. 
John's  Wort,  Trefoil,  Yarrow, 
Bugloss,  Purple  Vetch,  Wild- 
thyme,  Pale  Wood-Orchis, 
Betony,  and  white  Clover,  flow- 
ering on  the  ist.  Large  blue 
Cranesbill  the  gth;  Ragwort, 
Mothmullein,  and  Brambles,  the 
2Oth ;  Knapweed  all  the  month. 
There  was  rain  (more  or  less) 
13  days  out  of  31,  this  month; 
and  1 7  days  out  of  30  in  June 
preceding 


I  was  too  late  for  the  post  on  Saturday,  so  I  continue 
on  Monday.  It  is  now  6  in  the  afternoon,  and  the 
thermometer  is  mounted  to  80,  though  the  wind  is  at 
N.E.  by  N.  The  gay  Lady  Essex  is  dead  of  a  fever 

84 


Rural   Felicity 

during  her  lying-in ;  and  Mrs.  Charles  York  last  week, 
with  one  of  her  children,  of  the  sore  throat.  Heberden, 
and  (I  think)  Taylor,  attended  her;  the  latter  had 
pronounced  her  out  of  danger ;  but  Heberden  doubted 
her.  The  little  boy  was  at  Acton,  and  escaped  the 
infection. 

Everybody  continues  as  quiet  about  the  invasion,  as 
if  a  Frenchman,  as  soon  as  he  set  his  foot  on  our  coast, 
would  die,  like  a  toad  in  Ireland.  Yet  the  king's  tents 
and  equipage  are  ordered  to  be  ready  at  an  hour's 
warning.  Nobody  knows,  positively,  what  is  the  damage 
that  Rodney  has  done,  whether  much  or  little :  he  can 
only  guess  himself ;  and  the  French  have  kept  their  own 
secret,  as  yet.  Of  the  12  millions,  raised  for  the  year, 
eight  are  gone  already,  and  the  old  party  assure  us,  there 
is  no  more  to  be  had  for  next  year.  You  may  easily 
guess  at  the  source  of  my  intelligence,  and  therefore  will 
not  talk  of  it.  News  is  hourly  expected  of  a  battle  in 
Westphalia,  for  Pr.  Ferdinand  was  certainly  preparing 
to  fight  the  French,  who  have  taken  Minden  by 
storm. 

I  hear  the  D.  of  N.  is  much  broke  ever  since  his 
sister  Castlecomer  died:  not  that  he  cared  for  her,  or 
saw  her  above  once  a  year ;  but  she  was  the  last  of 
the  brood,  that  was  left;  and  he  now  goes  regularly 
to  church,  which  he  never  did  before.  Adieu.  I  am 
ever  yours. 

I  hope  Mrs.  Wharton's  native  air  will  be  more  civil 
to  her,  when  they  are  better  acquainted :  my  best  com- 
pliments to  her.  I  am  glad  the  children  are  well. 


The  Second   Post 

William  Cowper  records  his  history  as  a  gardener       ^> 
(To  Mrs  King) 

WESTON  UNDERWOOD 
October  n,  1788 

MY  DEAR  MADAM,  —  You  are  perfectly  secure 
from  all  danger  of  being  overwhelmed  with 
presents  from  me. 

It  is  not  much  that  a  poet  can  possibly  have  it  in  his 
power  to  give.  When  he  has  presented  his  own  works, 
he  may  be  supposed  to  have  exhausted  all  means  of 
donation. 

They  are  his  only  superfluity. 

There  was  a  time,  but  that  time  was  before  I  com- 
menced writer  for  the  press,  when  I  amused  myself  in  a 
way  somewhat  similar  to  yours ;  allowing,  I  mean,  for 
the  difference  between  masculine  and  feminine  opera- 
tions. 

The  scissors  and  the  needle  are  your  chief  implements ; 
mine  were  the  chisel  and  the  saw. 

In  those  days  you  might  have  been  in  some  danger  of 
too  plentiful  a  return  for  your  favours.  Tables,  such  as 
they  were,  and  joint  stools  such  as  never  were,  might  have 
travelled  to  Pertenhall  in  most  inconvenient  abundance. 

But  I  have  long  since  discontinued  this  practice,  and 
many  others  which  I  found  it  necessary  to  adopt,  that  I 
might  escape  the  worst  of  all  evils,  both  in  itself  and  in 
its  consequences  —  an  idle  life. 

Many  arts  I  have  exercised  with  this  view,  for  which 

nature  never  designed  me,  though  among  them  were  some 

in  which  I  arrived  at  considerable  proficiency,  by  mere 

dint  of  the  most  heroic  perseverance.     There  is  not  a 

86 


Rural  Felicity 

'squire  in  all  this  country  who  can  boast  of  having  made 
better  squirrel-houses,  hutches  for  rabbits,  or  bird-cages, 
than  myself :  and  in  the  article  of  cabbage-nets,  I  had  no 
superior.  I  even  had  the  hardiness  to  take  in  hand  the 
pencil,  and  studied  a  whole  year  the  art  of  drawing. 
Many  figures  were  the  fruit  of  my  labours,  which  had  the 
merit,  at  least,  of  being  unparalleled  by  any  production 
either  of  art  or  nature.  But  before  the  year  was  ended, 
I  had  occasion  to  wonder  at  the  progress  that  may  be 
made,  in  spite  of  natural  deficiency,  by  dint  alone  of  prac- 
tice, for  I  actually  produced  three  landscapes  which  a  lady 
thought  worthy  to  be  framed  and  glazed.  I  then  judged 
it  high  time  to  exchange  this  occupation,  lest,  by  any  sub- 
sequent productions  of  inferior  merit  I  should  forfeit  the 
honour  I  had  so  fortunately  acquired. 

But  gardening  was,  of  ah1  employments,  that  in  which 
I  succeeded  best ;  though  even  in  this  I  did  not  suddenly 
attain  perfection. 

I  began  with  lettuces  and  cauliflowers;  from  them  I 
proceeded  to  cucumbers ;  next  to  melons. 

I  then  purchased  an  orange  tree,  to  which,  in  due  time 
I  added  two  or  three  myrtles.  These  served  me  day  and 
night  for  employment  during  a  whole  severe  winter.  To 
defend  them  from  the  frost,  in  a  situation  that  exposed 
them  to  its  severity,  cost  me  much  ingenuity,  and  much 
attendance. 

I  contrived  to  give  them  a  fire  heat ;  and  have  waded 
night  after  night  through  the  snow,  with  the  bellows 
under  my  arm,  just  before  going  to  bed,  to  give  the  latest 
possible  puff  to  the  embers,  lest  the  frost  should  seize 
them  before  morning.  Very  minute  beginnings  have 
sometimes  important  consequences. 

From  nursing  two  or  three  little  evergreens,  I  became 
8? 


The  Second  Post 

ambitious  of  a  greenhouse,  and  accordingly  built  one, 
which,  verse  excepted,  afforded  me  amusement  for  a 
longer  time  than  any  expedient  of  all  the  many  to  which 
I  have  fled  for  refuge  from  the  misery  of  having  nothing 
to  do. 

When  I  left  Olney  for  Weston,  I  could  no  longer  have 
a  green-house  of  my  own;  but  in  a  neighbour's  garden 
I  find  a  better  of  which  the  sole  management  is  consigned 
to  me. 

I  had  need  take  care,  when  I  begin  a  letter,  that  the 
subject  with  which  I  set  off  be  of  some  importance ;  for 
before  I  can  exhaust  it,  be  it  what  it  may,  I  have  gener- 
ally rilled  my  paper.  But  self  is  a  subject  inexhaustible, 
which  is  the  reason  that  though  I  have  said  little  or 
nothing,  I  am  afraid,  worth  your  hearing,  I  have  only  room 
to  add,  that  I  am,  my  dear  Madam,  most  truly  yours, 

W.  C. 

Mrs.  Unwin  bids  me  present  her  best  compliments, 
and  say  how  much  she  shall  be  obliged  to  you  for  the 
receipt  to  make  that  most  excellent  cake  which  came 
hither  in  its  native  pan.  There  is  no  production  of  yours 
that  will  not  be  always  most  welcome  at  Weston. 

Edward  Gibbon  meditates  farming       "O        *Cy        •^ 

October  6,  1771 

DEAR  HOLROYD,  —  I   sit   down   to   answer  your 
epistle,  after  taking  a  very  pleasant  ride.  —  A  ride  ! 
and  upon  what  ?  —  upon  a  horse. 

You  lie  ! — I  don't.  —  I  have  got  a  droll  little  poney,  and 
intend  to  renew  the  long-forgotten  practice  of  equitation, 
as  it  was  known  in  the  world  before  the  second  of  June  of 


Rural  Felicity 

the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
sixty-three. 

As  I  used  to  reason  against  riding  so  I  can  now  argue 
for  it ;  and  indeed  the  principal  use  I  know  in  human 
reason  is,  when  called  upon,  to  furnish  arguments  for 
what  we  have  an  inclination  to  do. 

What  do  you  mean  by  presuming  to  affirm  that  I  am 
of  no  use  here  ?  Farmer  Gibbon  of  no  use  ? 

Last  week  I  sold  all  my  hops,  and  I  believe  well,  at 
nine  guineas  a  hundred,  to  a  very  responsible  man. 

Some  people  think  I  might  have  got  more  at  Weyhill 
fair,  but  that  would  have  been  an  additional  expense,  and 
a  great  uncertainty. 

Our  quantity  has  disappointed  us  very  much ;  but  I 
think,  that  besides  hops  for  the  family,  there  will  be  not 
less  than  500  1. :  —  no  contemptible  sum  off  thirteen  small 
acres,  and  two  of  them  planted  last  year  only. 

This  week  I  let  a  little  farm  in  Petersfield  by  auction, 
and  propose  raising  it  from  25  1.  to  3  5  1.  per  annum :  —  and 
Farmer  Gibbon  of  no  use  ! 

To  be  serious :  I  have  but  one  reason  for  resisting  your 
invitation  and  my  own  wishes  ;  that  is,  I  left  Mrs.  Gibbon 
alone  nearly  all  last  winter,  and  shall  do  the  same  this. 

She  submits  very  cheerfully  to  that  state  of  solitude ; 
but,  on  sounding  her,  I  am  convinced  that  she  would 
think  it  unkind  were  I  to  leave  her  at  present. 

I  know  you  so  well,  that  I  am  sure  you  will  acquiesce 
in  this  reason ;  and  let  me  make  my  next  visit  to  Sheffield- 
Place  from  town,  which  I  think  may  be  a  little  before 
Christmas. 

I  should  like  to  hear  something  of  the  precise  time, 
duration,  and  extent  of  your  intended  tour  into  Bucks.  — 
Adieu. 

89 


The  Second   Post 

The  Rev.  Laurence  Sterne  describes  his  happiness  at 
Coxwould      xc>        ^>        *^>        ^>        *o        x^> 

COXWOULD,  June  7,  1767 

DEAR  L E,  —  I  had  not  been  many  days  at  this 
peaceful  cottage  before  your  letter  greeted  me  with 
the  seal  of  friendship,  and  most  cordially  do  I  thank  you 
for  so  kind  a  proof  of  your  good  will  —  I  was  truly  thank- 
ful to  hear  of  the  recovery  of  my  sentimental  friend  — 
but  I  would  not  write  to  enquire  after  her,  unless  I 
could  have  sent  her  the  testimony  without  the  tax,  for 
even  howd'yes  to  invalids,  or  those  who  have  lately  been 
so,  either  call  to  mind  what  is  past  or  what  may  return  — 
at  least  I  find  it  so. 

I  am  as  happy  as  a  prince  at  Coxwould  —  and  I  wish 
you  could  see  in  how  princely  a  manner  I  live  —  'tis  a  land 
of  plenty ;  I  sit  down  alone  to  venison,  fish,  wild-fowl  or 
a  couple  of  fowls  or  ducks,  with  curds  and  strawberries 
and  cream,  and  all  the  simple  plenty  which  a  rich  valley 
(under  Hamilton  Hills)  can  produce  —  with  a  clean  cloth 
on  my  table  —  and  a  bottle  of  wine  on  my  right  hand  to 
drink  your  health.  I  have  a  hundred  hens  and  chickens 
about  my  yard  —  and  not  a  parishioner  catches  a  hare,  or 
a  rabbit,  or  a  trout,  but  he  brings  it  as  an  offering  to  me. 

If  solitude  would  cure  a  love-sick  heart,  I  would  give 
you  an  invitation  —  but  absence  and  time  lessen  no 
attachment  which  virtue  inspires. 

I  am  in  high  spirits  —  care  never  enters  this  cottage  —  I 
take  the  air  every  day  in  my  post-chaise,  with  two  long- 
tailed  horses  —  they  turn  out  good  ones  ;  and  as  to  myself, 
I  think  I  am  better  on  the  whole  for  the  medicines  and 
regimen  I  submitted  in  town. 

May  you,  dear,  L ,  want  neither  the  one  nor  the 

other  !  —  Yours  truly. 

90 


Rural   Felicity 

Gilbert  White  on  all  the  finches  of  the  grove    ^x        "O 
(To  Thomas  Pennant) 

SELBORNE,  September  2,  1774 

DEAR  SIR,  —  Before  your  letter  arrived,  and  of  my 
own  accord,  I  had  been  remarking  and  compar- 
ing the  tails  of  the  male  and  female  swallow,  and  this  ere 
any  young  broods  appeared,  so  that  there  was  no  danger 
of  confounding  the  dames  with  their  pulli;  and  besides,  as 
they  were  then  always  in  pairs,  and  busied  in  the  employ 
of  nidincation,  there  could  be  no  room  for  mistaking  the 
sexes,  nor  the  individuals  of  different  chimneys  the  one 
for  the  other.  From  all  my  observations,  it  constantly 
appeared  that  each  sex  has  the  long  feathers  in  its  tail 
that  give  it  that  forked  shape,  with  this  difference,  that 
they  are  longer  in  the  tail  of  the  male  than  in  that  of  the 
female. 

Nightingales,  when  their  young  first  come  abroad,  and 
are  helpless,  make  a  plaintive  and  a  jarring  noise,  and 
also  a  snapping  or  cracking,  pursuing  people  along  the 
hedges  as  they  walk :  these  last  sounds  seem  intended  for 
menace  and  defiance. 

The  grasshopper-lark  chirps  all  night  in  the  height  of 
summer. 

Swans  turn  white  the  second  year,  and  breed  the  third. 

Weasels  prey  on  moles,  as  appears  by  their  being 
sometimes  caught  in  mole-traps. 

Sparrow-hawks  sometimes  breed  in  old  crows'  nests, 
and  the  kestrel  in  churches  and  ruins. 

There  are  supposed  to  be  two  sorts  of  eels  in  the 
island  of  Ely.  The  threads  sometimes  discovered  in 
eels  are  their  young :  the  generation  of  eels  is  very  dark 
and  mysterious. 

91 


The  Second   Post 

Hen-harriers  breed  in  the  ground,  and  seem  never  to 
settle  on  trees. 

When  redstars  shake  their  tails  they  move  them 
horizontally,  as  dogs  do  when  they  fawn ;  the  tail  of  a 
wagtail  when  in  motion  bobs  up  and  down  like  that  of 
a  jaded  horse. 

Hedge-sparrows  have  a  remarkable  flirt  with  their 
wings  in  breeding-time ;  as  soon  as  frosty  mornings 
come  they  make  a  very  piping  plaintive  noise. 

Many  birds  which  become  silent  about  midsummer 
reassume  their  notes  again  in  September,  as  the 
thrush,  the  blackbird,  woodlark,  willow-wren,  etc. ;  hence 
August  is  by  much  the  most  mute  month  the  spring, 
summer,  and  autumn  through.  Are  birds  induced  to 
sing  because  the  temperament  of  autumn  resembles  that 
of  spring  ? 

Linnaeus  ranges  plants  geographically ;  palms  inhabit 
the  tropics,  grasses  the  temperate  zones,  and  mosses 
lichens  the  polar  circles ;  no  doubt  animals  may  be 
classed  in  the  same  manner  with  propriety. 

House-sparrows  build  under  the  eaves  in  the  spring; 
as  the  weather  becomes  hotter  they  set  out  for  coolness 
and  rest  in  plum  trees  and  apple  trees.  These  birds 
have  been  known  sometimes  to  build  in  rooks'  nests  and 
sometimes  in  the  forks  of  boughs  under  rooks'  nests. 

As  my  neighbour  was  housing  a  rick,  he  observed 
that  his  dogs  devoured  all  the  little  red-mice;  and  his 
cats  ate  the  common  mice,  refusing  the  red. 

Red-breasts  sing  all  through  the  spring,  summer  and 
autumn.  The  reason  that  they  are  called  autumn 
songsters  is,  because  in  the  two  first  seasons  their 
voices  are  drowned  and  lost  in  the  general  chorus ;  in 
the  latter  their  song  becomes  distinguishable.  Many 
92 


Rural   Felicity 

songsters  of  the  autumn  seem  to  be  the  young  cock  red- 
breasts of  that  year;  notwithstanding  the  prejudices  in 
their  favour,  they  do  much  mischief  in  gardens  to  the 
summer  fruits. 

The  titmouse,  which  early  in  February  begins  to 
make  the  quaint  notes,  like  the  whetting  of  a  saw,  is  the 
marsh  titmouse:  the  great  titmouse  sings  with  three 
cheerful  joyous  notes,  and  begins  about  the  same  time. 

Wrens  sing  all  the  winter  through,  frost  excepted. 

House-martins  came  remarkably  late  this  year,  both  in 
Hampshire  and  Devonshire :  is  this  circumstance  for  or 
against  either  hiding  or  migration?  Most  birds  drink 
sipping  at  intervals ;  but  pigeons  take  a  long  continued 
draught,  like  quadrupeds. 

Notwithstanding  what  I  have  said  in  a  former  letter, 
no  grey  crows  were  ever  known  to  breed  on  Dartmoor ; 
it  was  my  mistake. 

The  appearance  and  flying  of  the  Scarabaus  solstitialis, 
or  fern-chafer,  commence  with  the  month  of  July,  and 
cease  about  the  end  of  it.  These  scarabs  are  the  constant 
food  of  Caprimilgi  or  fern-owls,  through  that  period. 
They  abound  on  the  chalky  downs  and  in  some  sandy 
districts,  but  not  in  the  clays. 

In  the  garden  of  the  Black  Bear  Inn  in  the  town  of 
Reading,  is  a  stream  or  canal  running  under  the  stables 
and  out  into  the  fields  on  the  other  side  of  the  road;  in 
this  water  are  many  carp,  which  lie  rolling  about  in  sight, 
being  fed  by  travellers,  who  amuse  themselves  by  tossing 
them  bread ;  but  as  soon  as  the  weather  grows  at  all  severe, 
these  fishes  are  no  longer  seen,  because  they  retire  under 
the  stables,  where  they  remain  till  the  return  of  spring. 
Do  they  lie  in  a  torpid  state  ?  If  they  do  not,  how  are 
they  supported  ? 

93 


The  Second   Post 

The  note  of  the  white-throat,  which  is  continually  re- 
peated, and  often  attended  with  odd  gesticulation  on  the 
wing,  is  harsh  and  displeasing.  These  birds  seem  of  a 
pugnacious  disposition;  for  they  sing  with  an  erected 
crest  and  attitudes  of  rivalry  and  defiance ;  are  shy  and 
wild  in  breeding  time,  avoiding  neighbourhoods  and 
haunting  lonely  lanes  and  commons ;  nay,  even  the  very 
tops  of  the  Sussex  downs,  where  are  bushes  and  coverts ; 
but  in  July  and  August  they  bring  their  broods  into 
gardens  and  orchards,  and  make  great  havoc  among 
the  summer  fruits. 

The  black-cap  has  in  common  a  full,  sweet,  deep,  loud, 
and  wild  pipe ;  yet  that  strain  is  of  short  continuance, 
and  his  motions  are  desultory;  but  when  that  bird  sits 
calmly  and  engages  in  song  in  earnest,  he  pours  forth 
very  sweet  but  inward  melody,  and  expresses  great 
variety  of  soft  and  gentle  modulations ;  superior  perhaps 
to  those  of  any  of  our  warblers,  the  nightingale  excepted. 

Black-caps  mostly  haunt  orchards  and  gardens ;  while 
they  warble  their  throats  are  wonderfully  distended. 

The  song  of  the  redstart  is  superior,  though  somewhat 
like  that  of  the  white-throat ;  some  birds  have  a  few 
more  notes  than  others.  Sitting  very  placidly  on  the  top 
of  a  tall  tree  in  a  village,  the  cock  sings  from  morning  till 
night :  he  affects  neighbourhoods,  and  avoids  solitude, 
and  loves  to  build  in  orchards  and  about. houses ;  with  us 
he  perches  on  the  vane  of  a  tall  may -pole. 

The  fly-catcher  is  of  all  our  summer  birds  the  most 
mute  and  the  most  familiar ;  it  also  appears  the  last  of 
any.  It  builds  in  a  vine,  or  a  sweet  briar,  against  the 
wall  of  a  house,  or  in  the  hole  of  a  wall,  or  in  the  end  of 
a  beam  or  plate,  and  often  close  to  the  post  of  a  door 
where  people  are  going  in  and  out  all  day  long.  This 

94 


Rural  Felicity 

bird  does  not  make  the  least  pretension  to  song,  but  uses 
a  little  inward  wailing  note  when  it  thinks  its  young  in 
danger  from  cats  or  other  annoyances;  it  breeds  but 
once,  and  returns  early. 

Selborne  parish  alone  can  and  has  exhibited  at  times 
more  than .  half  the  birds  that  are  ever  seen  in  all 
Sweden ;  the  former  has  produced  more  than  one 
hundred  and  twenty  species,  the  latter  only  two  hundred 
and  twenty  one.  Let  me  add  also  that  it  has  shown  near 
half  the  species  that  were  ever  known  in  Great  Britain. 

On  a  retrospect,  I  observe  that  my  long  letter  carries 
with  it  a  quaint  and  magisterial  air,  and  is  very 
sententious ;  but  when  I  recollect  that  you  requested 
stricture  and  anecdote,  I  hope  you  will  pardon  the 
didactic  manner  for  the  sake  of  the  information  it 
may  happen  to  contain. 

Charles  James  Fox  instructs  Mr.  Gray  as  to  the  note 
of  the  nightingale      XO        <^        xs>        xv>        "C> 

DEAR  GRAY,  —  In  defence  of  my  opinion  about  the 
nightingales,  I  find  Chaucer,  who  of  all  poets 
seems  to  have  been  the  fondest  of  the  singing  of  birds, 
calls  it  a  merry  note;  and  though  Theocritus  mentions 
nightingales  six  or  seven  times,  he  never  mentions  their 
note  as  plaintive  or  melancholy.  It  is  true,  he  does  not 
call  it  anywhere  merry,  as  Chaucer  does ;  but  by  mention- 
ing it  with  the  song  of  the  blackbird,  and  as  answering 
it,  he  seems  to  imply  that  it  was  a  cheerful  note. 

Sophocles  is  against  us,  but  even  he  says,  "lamenting 
Itys"  and  the  comparison  of  her  to  Electra  is  rather  as 
to  perseverance  day  and  night,  than  as  to  sorrow.  At 
all  events,  a  tragic  poet  is  not  half  so  good  authority  on 

95 


The  Second   Post 

this  question  as  Theocritus  and  Chaucer.  I  cannot  light 
upon  the  passage  in  the  Odyssey  where  Penelope's  rest- 
lessness is  compared  to  the  nightingale;  but  I  am  sure 
you  will  be  paid  for  your  hunt,  whether  you  find  it  or  not. 
The  passage  in  Chaucer  is  in  "Flower  and  Leaf,"  page  99. 
The  one  I  particularly  allude  to  in  Theocritus  is  in  his 
Epigrams,  I  think  in  the  fourth.  Dryden  has  trans- 
ferred the  word  merry  to  the  gold  finch  in  the  "Flower 
and  the  Leaf,"  in  deference,  may  be,  to  his  vulgar  error ; 
but  pray  read  his  description  of  the  nightingale  there: 
it  is  quite  delightful.  I  am  afraid  that  I  like  those  re- 
searches, as  much  better  than  those  that  relate  to 
Shaftesbury,  Sunderland,  etc.,  as  I  do  those  better  than 
attending  the  House  of  Commons.  —  Yours  affection- 
ately, C.  J.  Fox 


William  Blake  and  his  wife  try  to  lure  the  Flaxmans 
to  Sussex   '^        "'O        *o        <^y        ^        •<v> 

HERCULES  BUILDINGS,  LAMBETH 
September  14,  1800 

MY  DEAREST  FRIEND, —  I  hope  you  will  not 
think   [we]   could   forget  your   services   to   us,  or 
anyway  neglect  to  love  and  remember  with  affection 
even  the  hem  of  your  garment. 

We  indeed  presume  on  your  kindness  in  neglecting 
to  have  called  upon  you  since  my  husband's  first  return 
from  Felpham. 

We  have  been  incessantly  busy  in  our  great  removal ; 
but  can  never  think  of  going  without  first  paying  our 
proper  duty  to  you  and  Mr.  Flaxman. 

We  intend  to  call  on  Sunday  afternoon  in  Hampstead, 
96 


Rural  Felicity 

to  take  farewell ;  all  things  being  now  nearly  completed 
for  our  setting  forth  on  Tuesday  morning. 

It  is  only  sixty  miles,  and  Lambeth  one  hundred,  for 
the  terrible  desert  of  London  was  between. 

My  husband  has  been  obliged  to  finish  several  things 
necessary  to  be  finished  before  our  migration.  The 
swallows  call  us,  fleeting  past  our  window  at  this 
moment. 

Oh !  how  we  delight  in  talking  of  the  pleasure  we 
shall  have  in  preparing  you  a  summer  bower  at  Felpham. 
And  we  not  only  talk,  but  behold !  the  angels  of  our 
journey  have  inspired  a  song  to  you :  — 

To  MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  MRS.  ANNA  FLAXJIAN 

This  song  to  the  flower  of  Flaxman's  joy ; 
To  the  blossom  of  hope,  for  a  sweet  decoy  ; 
Do  all  that  you  can,  and  all  that  you  may, 
To  entice  him  to  Felpham  and  far  away. 

Away  to  sweet  Felpham,  for  Heaven  is  there ; 
The  Ladder  of  Angels  descends  through  the  air ; 
On  the  Turret  its  spiral  does  softly  descend, 
Through  the  village  then  winds,  at  my  cot  it  does  end. 

You  stand  in  the  village  and  look  up  to  Heaven ; 
The  precious  stones  glitter  on  flights  seventy-seven ; 
And  my  brother  is  there,  and  my  Friend  and  Thine, 
Descend  and  ascend  with  the  Bread  and  the  Wine. 

The  Bread  of  sweet  thought  and  the  Wine  of  delight 
Feed  the  village  of  Felpham  by  day  and  by  night ; 
And  at  his  own  door  the  bless'd  hermit  does  stand, 
Dispensing,  unceasing,  to  all  the  wide  land. 

W.  BLAKE 

Receive  my  and  my  husband's  love  and  affection,  and 
believe  me  to  be  yours  affectionately, 

CATHERINE  BLAKE 
H  97 


VIII 

A  LICHFIELD   CHAPLET 

I 
(To  Mrs.  Mompessan) 

LICHFIELD,  June  14,  1791 

DID  I  not  manage  my  mind  right  stoically,  not  to 
touch  upon  any  thing  in  the  shape  of  an  adieu? 
Was  it  not,  camelijn-like,  to  take  the  colour  of  your 
inclinations,  who,  I  know,  love  to  reserve  your  embraces 
for  the  hour  of  meeting  ?  Never  can  I  forget  how  warm 
those  embraces  were,  when,  in  the  dusk  of  a  vernal 
evening,  I  entered  your  mansion,  so  embowered  and  so 
pleasant,  after  an  absence  of  almost  countless  years. 
Never  can  I  forget  the  month  that  glided  so  swiftly 
away  amid  your  lovely  glades,  and  in  your  'thrice-dear 
society.  Once  more  let  me  thank  you  for  the  sweetness 
and  lustre  of  those  recorded  days. 

As  to  the  sultry  morning  of  our  separation,  I  have  not, 
through  life,  been  so  sensible  of  climatic  violence.  The 
white  and  cloudless  concave  smote  upon  us  with  fiery 
severity,  and  clouds  of  choking  dust  rose  incessantly 
around  us. 

But  Mrs.  Hayley  received  me  with  animated  gladness, 
98 


A  Lichfield  Chaplet 

encompassed  with  youths  of  genius  —  the  rising  hopes  of 
Derby.  They  walked  with  us  into  Mr.  H.'s  garden,  and 
returned  home  with  us  to  supper.  Next  morning  we  had 
levees  in  succession ;  half  the  smart  people  of  that  town, 
interspersed  with  the  militia  officers.  We  past  the 
afternoon  and  evening  at  Dr.  Darwin's,  though  he,  who 
unites  in  himself  what  Johnson  said  of  James  and 
Garrick,  viz.  "he  who  lengthened,  and  he  who  gladdened 
life,"  the  great  physician  and  exquisite  poet,  was  called 
thirty  miles  another  way,  in  the  exercise  of  his  first 
power.  Mrs.  Darwin  had  an  immense  party  to  meet  us, 
for  whose  apprehended  amusement  she  engaged  me,  by 
earnest  solicitations,  to  repeat  odes  and  sonnets.  If  they 
were  not  egregious  flatterers,  the  pleasure  the  company 
expressed  made  it  impossible  to  grudge  the  exertion, 
even  beneath  a  sky  so  torrid. 

The  next  morning  we  paid  some  of  our  visits ;  and  in 
the  evening  Mrs.  Hayley  had  more  than  twenty  friends 
to  tea  and  supper :  amongst  them  a  gentleman  who,  on 
the  instant  of  his  being  introduced,  impressed  my  mind 
with  a  sentiment  in  his  favour,  more  passionately  tender 
than  I  had  ever  felt  for  any  man  on  the  first  interview, 

"Even  in  the  heyday  of  impetuous  youth, 
The  spring  of  life,  the  bloom  of  gaudy  years." 

It  was  so  tender  as  to  force  the  tears  in  rivers  down 
my  cheeks,  during  the  first  half-hour  in  which  he  talked 
to  me. 

And  now,  lest  your  rigid  decorum  should  induce  you 
to  censure,  without  mercy,  emotions,  at  once  so  rapid 
and  ungovernable,  I  must  whisper  to  you  the  age  of 
their  inspirer ;  he  is  ninety-one  —  my  father's  old  friend, 
Mr.  Ashby,  who  preserves,  at  so  late  a  period,  his  intel- 

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The  Second   Post 

lects  and  sensibility  in  wonderful  power,  and  with  the 
most  attentive  politeness ;  but  the  sunk  mouth  of  extreme 
old  age,  the  glazed  eye,  the  hesitating  feebleness  of 
accent,  the  cold  clammy  hand  that  pressed  mine  with 
affectionate  earnestness,  all  contributed  to  produce  a 
resemblance  to  my  poor  father,  so  striking  as  to  occasion 
those  emotions  I  mentioned.  He  inquired  after  genera- 
tions at  Lichfield,  long  passed  away,  who  were  his 
contemporaries,  and  with  whose  names  my  mother  had, 
in  childhood,  familiarized  me,  though  they  had  then 
ceased  to  exist.  He  told  me  that  he  had  often  had  my 
mother  on  his  knee,  the  most  beautiful  infant  of  three 
years  old,  he  said,  he  ever  beheld. 

You  will  imagine  how  interesting  all  this  to  me,  who 
look  back  upon  the  years  that  are  fled  with  all  the 
enthusiasm,  though  not  with  the  science,  of  an  anti- 
quarian ;  yet,  however  interested,  gratified,  and  amused, 
by  the  politeness,  vivacity,  and  intelligence  of  the  Derby 
gentlemen  and  ladies,  I  found  the  heats  dreadfully 
oppressive.  Mrs.  Hayley's  tea-room,  and  the  bed- 
chamber I  occupied,  are  full  west.  Accustomed  to 
slumber  amidst  the  profoundest  silence,  and  unable, 
through  the  sultriness,  to  shut  down  my  sashes,  the 
street-noises,  excessive  and  incessant,  kept  me  awake 
two  whole  nights.  I  felt  the  torture  of  being  startled 
into  wakefulness  every  time  the  balmy  power  weighed 
down  my  eyelids,  and  thought  of  the  denunciation 
against  Macbeth.  I  was  never  more  sensible  of  its  force, 
and  of  the  misery  of  being  forbid  to  taste  the  "chief 
nourishment  at  life's  feast," 

"  Sleep,  that  knits  up  the  ravell'd  sleeve  of  care, 
The  death  of  each  day's  woe,  sore  labour's  bath, 
Balm  of  hurt  minds !" 

100 


A  Lichfield  Chaplet 

The  stock  of  health  I  had  acquired  in  your  peaceful 
village  began  to  vanish  fast  beneath  such  fatigue.  I 
sighed  for  the  cool  book-room  —  the  hermitage  —  the 
shaded  lawns  and  gurgling  waters  of  Woodhouse. 

It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  I  could  retain 
my  purpose  of  going  to  Burton,  so  pressing  were  the 
solicitations,  on  all  hands,  to  prolong  my  stay  in  a  town 
whose  inhabitants  had  proved  so  long  pleasant  to  me  — 
but  I  did  keep  my  appointment  with  my  friend  Mrs. 
Dalrymple,  and  arrived  at  Burton  by  nine  in  the  evening. 
Four  days  passed  agreeably  away  in  that  visit,  except 
that,  during  one  of  them,  Mrs.  D.  was  seized  with  a 
violent  stomach  and  bowel  complaint,  but  it  went  off 
the  next  day,  and  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  leaving  her 
perfectly  recovered.  It  was  then  that  I  could  jestingly 
tell  her  she  fell  ill  on  purpose  to  show  off  her  husband's 
tender  attention,  more  animated  and  incessant  than  I 
had  ever  observed  in  the  creation's  lords  to  sick  wives. 
So  she  sent  me  home  half-inclined  to  bewail  my  virginity 
like  Jephtha's  daughter. 

This  good  couple  long  to  be  acquainted  with  you,  and 
you  would  like  them.  She  has  intelligence,  cheerfulness, 
and  droll  humour,  in  which  you  so  much  delight  —  he 
has  sense,  worth,  and  character,  resulting  from  pleasant 
oddity  and  shrewd  simplicity  of  accent  and  language. 
You  would  like  him  some  degrees  superadded  to  your 
esteem  for  his  good  qualities,  when  you  shall  know  that 
he  lost  an  estate  of  1500!.  per  annum,  by  his  uncle 
Colonel  Dalrymple's  attachment  to  the  fallen  house  of 
Stuart,  in  the  year  1745.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  D.  wish  you  to 
pass  a  day  or  two  with  them  in  some  of  your  journies 
through  Burton,  and  I  wish  you  would  so  far  oblige  and 
indulge  them. 

101 


The  Second   Post 

I  came  home  late  on  Sunday  night,  and  the  next  morn- 
ing found  the  cathedral  bowers  and  lawns  in  full  bloom 
and  beauty,  with  the  addition  of  four  more  houses  round 
the  area  being  white-roughcast.  It  is  now  completely 
the  milky  way,  a  white  zone  round  the  verdant  lawn 
sweetly  contrasting  the  lavish  foliage  of  the  scene. 

As  yet  I  have  seen  few  of  its  inhabitants,  except  dear 
Lady  Gresley  and  her  engaging  daughters,  and  old  Mr. 
Green,  to  whom  I  made  a  point  of  carrying  your  good 
wishes  yesterday.  That  benevolent  and  industrious  col- 
lector of  antique  curiosities  breaks  fast : 

"His  lamp  of  life  is  almost  spent  and  done." 

Lichfield,  or  rather  the  strangers  who  visit  her,  will  have 
a  great  loss  if  his  museum  should  not  survive  him,  or  not 
be  shewn  con  amore,  when  he  shall  no  longer  be  found 
amidst  the  vestiges  of  former  days.  Your  kind  message 
cheered  his  drooping  spirits,  and  he  blessed  you  with 
moist  eyes. 

You  remember  my  observing  to  you  how  much  our 
language  had  become,  even  in  common  conversation, 
Latinized,  since  Dr.  Johnson's  writings  were  familiar  to 
people,  and  since  his  fine  style  had  been  so  generally 
adopted  by  ingenious  writers.  I  heard  some  ladies  at 
Burton,  who  neither  have,  nor  pretend  to,  bookish  know- 
ledge, use  the  following  words  with  prompt  spontaneity 
in  conversing  on  common  topics,  viz.  "literature,  literary, 
hilarity,  stipulate,  excruciating,  delusive,  juvenile,  temer- 
ity, contemporary,  phenomenon,  popular,  conservatory," 
etc.  etc.  Twenty  years  ago,  scarce  one  of  those  words 
would  have  been  understood,  much  less  used  by  the  gen- 
erality of  private  gentlewomen.  I  like  this  growing 
Latinity  —  it  rids  us  of  a  number  of  those  hissing  s's  that 
102 


A  Lichfield   Chaplet 

deform  our  language,  which  becomes  more  harmonious 
and  full  for  their  dismission.  Adieu,  my  dear  friend  ! 

II 

(To  Mrs.  Adey) 

BUXTON,  June  14,  1793 

T  AM  invoking  the  Naiads  of  these  warm  soft  springs, 
-^  to  wash  away  the  dregs  of  that  obscure  and  long 
disease,  which,  assuming  various  forms,  has  oppressed 
me  since  the  birth-day  of  this  year.  There  was  reason 
to  hope,  that  bathing  and  drinking  the  waters  would  have 
been  of  great  use ;  but,  lo !  a  violent  cold  now  shivers 
through  my  veins.  The  weather  is  perverse.  After  a 
long  drought,  and  cloudless  horizon,  no  sooner  came 
luckless  I,  than  loud  and  keen  blew  the  north,  and  rainy 
clouds  drew  their  dark  trains  over  the  mountains.  If 
this  hoarse  soreness  on  my  lungs  should  settle  into  one 
of  my  fierce  hereditary  coughs,  the  prospect  of  the  north 
coast  will  vanish  from  my  purposes,  and  I  shall  shrink 
back  home  to  quiet  and  domestic  nursing. 

Though,  as  yet,  the  young  gay  crowds  do  not  swarm 
through  our  golden  Crescent,  hitherto  have  my  hours 
passed  pleasantly  in  musical  parties,  and  in  little  con- 
versations of  intelligence  and  interest.  I  am  under  the 
same  roof  with  amiable  and  lovely  Mrs.  Sedley,  and  dear 
Mrs.  Greaves,  of  our  little  city.  Except  the  latter,  I  did 
not,  on  my  first  arrival,  personally  know  a  single  being 
of  those  various  groups  that  inhabit  the  Crescent,  or 
resort  to  it  in  preference  to  the  less  splendid  dwellings 
of  olden  time.  My  next  favourite  after  sweet  Mrs. 
Sedley,  among  these  stranger  tribes,  is  Lady  Clerk,  from 
103 


The  Second   Post 

the  environs  of  Edinburgh.  She  is  here  with  her 
laughter-loving  husband,  who  very  shrewdly  knows  life 
and  manners,  and  the  rudiments  of  many  sciences ;  who 
plays  slow  Scotch  airs  on  the  violin  with  the  skill  of  a 
professor,  and  the  pathos  of  a  lover.  Sir  John  Clerk 
seems  to  idolize  his  lady,  who  is  still  very  handsome, 
though  no  longer  a  girl.  Her  figure  verges  to  en  bon 
point;  but  her  step,  her  air,  her  address,  are  spirited 
and  graceful ;  and  her  conversation  is  frank,  interesting, 
and  gay.  Her  apartments  attract  the  ingenious  and 
polite  of  both  sexes ;  and  if  her  parties  are  not  large, 
they  are  select. 

And  Miss  Delabere,  the  engaging  sister  of  my  beloved 
Mrs.  Granville,  I  was  delighted  to  find  here.  Though 
personally  strangers,  we  knew  much  of  each  other. 
Fast-fading  health  was  the  motive  of  her  journey.  The 
paleness  of  her  cheek,  the  languor  of  her  step,  are 
rendered  pleasing  by  that  pensive  sweetness  of  smile, 
that  touching  softness  of  voice,  which  are  often  more 
conciliating  than  even  the  warm  glow  of  independent 
health,  and  render  even  defect  lovely. 

Sir  John  E 's  daughters  were,  on  my  first  arrival, 

the  belles  of  the  scene.  The  eldest  is  strikingly  hand- 
some, with  an  air  of  dignity  and  fashion,  and,  as  she 
passes,  irresistibly  attracts  the  eye.  I  had  no  acquaint- 
ance with  these  nymphs,  nor  desired  it.  They  have  an 
assured  and  repulsive  haughtiness  of  look  and  step, 
which,  though  not  incompatible  with  grace,  destroys  all 
its  interest.  — 

"The  toss  of  quality,  and  high-bred  fleer." 

They  soon  left  us;    and  to  their  claim  of  handsomest, 

amid  a  dearth  of  beauty,  succeeded  the  two  Miss  C s, 

104 


A  Lichfield   Chaplet 

accompanying  their  portly,  handsome,  though  gouty, 
father;  a  very  shy  country  gentleman,  who  says  little, 
and  has  but  one  theme,  viz.  the  hereditary  powers  and 
beauties  of  horn-cattle.  His  second  daughter  is  most 
admired ;  tall  and  well-shaped ;  a  brunette  complexion, 
of  high  bloom ;  dark  large  round  eyes ;  the  full  lips  and 
aquiline  nose  of  the  Caesarian  medals.  Her  sister  has 
the  same  features,  upon  a  less  scale;  but  has  neither 
the  height  nor  bloom  of  the  younger,  who  possesses  a 
most  uncommon  talent  for  mechanics.  She  builds  little 
coaches,  chaises,  and  phaetons,  which  are  said  to  be  per- 
fect models ;  and  has  no  assistance  in  making  the  wheels, 
the  windows,  or  any  other  part.  These  young  ladies  are 
unaffected ;  but  neither  in  their  persons,  their  counte- 
nance, or  manner,  is  there  an  atom  of  grace  or  expression ; 
and  they  extremely  want  that  obliging  vivacity,  which  is 
at  once  so  natural  and  so  lovely  in  youth. 

When  I  left  home,  Mrs.  Cobb  was  in  somewhat  better 
health,  and  her  intellects  clearer  than  they  had  been  some 
time.  Miss  Adey  is  in  robust  vigour  of  frame,  and  has 
every  prospect  of  longevity;  but  there  is  no  rational 
dependence  upon  these  vital  perspectives. 

This  is  my  native  country,  and  I  gaze,  with  thrills  of 
filial  tenderness,  even  on  these  wild  and  barren  hills. 
Tell  your  beloved  Mr.  Adey,  that  I  purpose  going  next 
week  to  Eyam,  the  village  of  my  birth,  the  home  of  my 
early  infancy;  and  whither  I  often  used  to  accompany 
my  father  on  his  summer  residences  there.  I  cannot 
resist  the  desire  of  indulging  this  mournful  luxury,  in  a 
scene  which  bears  such  striking  traces  of  the  dear  and 
for  ever  lost.  There  is  more  scenic  beauty  and  cultivated 
umbrage  round  Eyam  than  amidst  those  naked  and 
monotonous  mountains. 

105 


The  Second   Post 

Mr.  Adey's  affectionate  heart  feels  the  force  of  local 
impressions  on  every  seldom  visit  to  his  native  Lichfield, 
and  will  sympathize  with  me  in  the  sensations  that  induce 
this  little  excursion. 

I  congratulate  you  on  the  public  virtue  of  your  favourite 
friend,  Mr.  Windham.  His  talents  have  been  long  dis- 
tinguished ;  and  he  has  now  proved  his  patriotism 
sincere,  by  preferring  the  welfare  of  his  country  to  private 
friendship  and  party  influence.  Adieu  ! 

Ill 

(To  Mrs.  Mompessan) 

BRTDLINGTON  QUAY,  YORKSHIRE 
August  15,  1793 

THAT  you  have  been  so  ill,  dear  friend,  I  am  sorry, 
but  comforted   that,   writing  in  a    state  of    con- 
valescence, your  disease  is  amongst  the  number  of  past 
evils,  for  which  concern  rises  in  our  bosom,  "shorn  of 
its  stings." 

This  long  excursion  has  afforded  me  many  pleasures, 
besides  having,  as  I  hope,  contributed  to  the  restoration 
of  my  health.  At  Buxton,  I  formed  a  friendship  with 
excellent  Mrs.  Sedley,  which  the  resistless  disappointer 
of  human  wishes  has  most  unexpectedly  nipt  in  its  first 
interesting  expansion.  —  On  my  road  to  the  North  coast, 
after  travelling  through  long  tracks  of  brown  and  thistly 
sterility,  scenes  of  the  highest  and  most  ornamented 
cultivation  rose  to  my  eye,  on  the  banks  of  the  majestic 
Humber,  which  is  there  several  miles  broad ;  and  it 
seemed  a  drive  of  several  miles  through  a  gay  garden, 
the  pleasure-grounds  of  each  elegant  and  thick-sown 
1 06 


A  Lichfield   Chaplet 

villa  extending  from  one  to  another.  I  dined  with  my 
dear  and  old  friend  Mrs.  Collins,  whose  virtues  glow, 
and  whose  intellectual  lights  burn  brightly  as  your  own, 
in  despite  of  the  snows  which  time  has  shed  upon  your 
mutual  foreheads. 

In  the  evening,  I  proceeded  where,  four  miles  farther, 
the  known  woods  and  lawns  of  Westella,  haunts  of  my 
youth,  adorn  the  banks  of  that  flood  of  liquid  silver, 
which  rolls  in  their  view.  I  was  received  with  animated 
and  cordial  welcome ;  its  glow  seemed  proportioned  to 
the  length  of  our  separation.  My  valued  friends  were 
become  venerable,  with  the  children  of  these  sons  play- 
ing round  their  knees,  who  were  themselves  scarce  more 
than  children  on  my  last  visit  to  that  dear  scene.  It  is 
on  returning  to  a  place,  after  a  very  long  absence,  that 
we  scarcely  credit  our  eyes,  when  they  show  us  a  new 
generation  rising  in  up  the  interim.  The  intervening 
space  is  annihilated,  by  the  strong  impression  we  retain 
of  the  living  objects  we  had  left  there,  and  by  the  same- 
ness of  the  local  ones. 

I  found  good  and  generous  Mrs.  Sykes  slowly  recover- 
ing from  a  dangerous  and  long  illness,  and  her  engaging 
and  accomplished  daughter  feeble  and  languid,  by  the 
long  pressure  of  filial  anxieties  and  exertions,  upon  a 
very  delicate  constitution.  They  obligingly  offered  to 
accompany  me  to  Bridlington,  but  were  too*  unwell  to 
encounter  the  company  and  hurries  of  Scarborough. 
My  promise  to  Mr.  Dewes  interfering,  we  agreed,  that 
if  he  and  his  party  left  that  coast  before  my  aqueous 
discipline  was  performed,  as  to  duration,  I  should 
complete  it  on  this  less  splendid  shore,  where  they 
agreed  to  meet  me.  .  .  . 

Hither  I  came  on  the  5th  instant,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sykes 
107 


The  Second   Post 

having  arrived  a  few  hours  before  me.  Two  agreeable 
young  ladies  of  their  intimacy,  Miss  Horners  of  Hull, 
joined  us  the  ensuing  day.  Thus  are  we  a  party  of  five 
in  the  same  lodgings,  and  on  the  edge  of  the  vast 
German  Ocean ;  we  inhale  its  saline  gales,  and  hope 
they  will  be  salubrious.  As  yet  I  have  only  been  able 
to  bathe  twice,  so  angrily  turbulent  have  I  found  ma 
mere.  A  boarded  pier,  one  hundred  and  twenty  yards 
in  length,  and  on  which  nine  people  may  walk  abreast, 
juts  out  into  her  bosom,  not  fifty  paces  from  us,  and 
balances  all  the  other  superiorities  of  Scarborough.  The 
sea-sands  are  always  either  too  wet  or  too  heavy  for 
comfortable  walking  —  but  this  pier  forms  an  admirable 
public  walk.  There  all  the  company  of  the  place 
resort,  —  and  there  the  ocean  gales  rise  on  all  sides 
around  us,  freely  as  we  could  taste  them  in  a  boat. 
Here  we  walk  or  sit,  very  often  in  the  day,  frequently 
when  the  huge  billows  are  raging  and  lashing  the  pier 
on  every  side. 

Several  families  of  consequence  are  at  this  place,  with 
whom,  being  known  to  Mrs.  Sykes,  we  exchange  morning 
visits.  In  the  evenings  I  generally  read  aloud,  while  the 
rest  work. 

Pretty  Mrs.  John  Gisbon  is  of  the  number,  with  her 
boyish-looking,  but  highly  intelligent  husband.  They 
were  so  good  to  take  me  yesterday  in  their  coach  an 
airing  on  the  edges  of  the  cliffs.  —  The  finest  and  mildest 
sun  shed  his  brilliants  in  the  mighty  waters,  on  which 
all  the  winds  lay  asleep.  When  the  horses  turned  home- 
wards, we  descended  to  the  sands,  and  observed  the 
pretty  grey  and  white  seagulls  taking  their  noon-meal 
of  shrimps  on  the  edges  of  the  waves,  that  but  just 
purled  up  the  shore.  The  vast  sea  was  of  a  bright  blue- 
108 


A  Lichfield  Chaplet 

ish-green,  verifying  Ossian's  description,  when  he  says, 
"the  blue  waves  of  Ullin  rolled  in  light." 

But,  O  !  the  delusive  smiles  of  that  capricious  element ! 
In  the  afternoon,  the  wind  rising  and  blowing  east,  the 
billows  began  to  chafe  and  foam.  Their  rage  increased 
as  the  evening  came  on,  and  then  it  was  that  "the 
waters  grew  dark  as  they  rose."  It  was  the  spring-tides, 
and  they  surged  to  the  shore  with  a  prodigious  and  tur- 
bulent flood. 

Mr.  Daniel  Sykes  joined  our  party,  since  I  began  this 
letter  some  days  ago,  by  engagements  prevented  from 
finishing  it  sooner.  This  young  gentleman  and  myself 
have  not  met  since  his  school-days.  In  the  beauty  of 
his  face,  and  the  polish  of  his  address,  he  rises,  to  my 
observation,  the  flower  of  the  Westella  house.  All  its 
sons  have  merit,  one  of  them  has  genius  and  wit,  but 
he  only  has  the  graces;  nor  exist  they  alone,  or  with 
a  frivolous  mind,  but  are  the  fascinating  ornaments  of 
distinguished  talents  and  generous  worth. 

So  the  bloody  Marat  is  fallen  by  female  heroism,  and 
the  Generals  Custine  and  Miranda  are  condemned,  with 
the  legislator  Brissot !  Thus  it  is,  that  the  godless  and 
lawless  republic,  like  Sin,  makes  the  wages  of  his 
servants  death.  Adieu. 

IV 

(To  David  Somervell,  Esq.) 

LICHFIELD,  March  17,  1795 

IT   flatters   me   that   you    like   my    little    poem    on 
Hoyle   lake.     I    have   really    not    exaggerated    the 
mild  agremcns  of  the  scene.     The  handsome  hotel,  built 
109 


The  Second  Post 

since  you  saw  it,  the  little  appendant  white  cottages, 
scattered  around,  to  supply  it  with  milk,  butter,  etc., 
diffuse  an  air  of  cheerful  and  social  comfort,  where  you 
saw  only  barren  and  lonely  downs.  The  rich  and  varied 
scenery  on  the  Flintshire  coast,  rising  from  the  waters 
of  the  Dee,  form,  when  the  azure  mirror  is  full,  a  soft 
and  marine  landscape,  recompensing  the  beautiful  ab- 
sence of  rocky  grandeur,  and  the  terrific  grace  of  oceanic 
sublimity. 

Your  account  of  the  Shakespearean  discovery  is 
very  interesting  —  but  my  faith  is  not  implicit.  The 
absence  of  the  indecent  passages  in  the  copy  of  Lear, 
looks  suspicious.  Obscene  wit  occurs  so  often  in  his 
other  plays,  and  in  Lear  it  is  of  such  biting  shrewdness, 
that,  however  responsible  in  inclination  the  performer 
might  be  to  foist  in  passages  of  that  nature,  the 
infinite  satiric  wit  of  those  which  are  scattered  through 
that  play,  proclaim  their  genuine  descent,  "trumpet- 
tongued." 

The  internal  evidence  which  the  Vortigern  must  supply, 
either  for  or  against  the  originality  of  these  "productions, 
will,  in  time,  by  the  accumulating  suffrages  of  those  who 
are  competent  to  judge  and  decide  upon  poetic  claims, 
either  sink  them  in  oblivion,  or  gather  them  to  the 
treasures  left  us  by  that  great  master. 

If  the  business  should  be  surreptitious;  he  is  a  bold 
man  who  attempts  to  shoot  in  the  strong  bow  of  our 
own  Ulysses.  I  believe  there  is  one,  and  only  one 
existing,  who  has  the  power  of  exciting  doubt,  if  not 
faith,  in  the  discriminating,  by  an  effort  so  arduous. 

That  man  is  Jephson.  His  bold  and  figurative  style 
in  Narbon,  and  in  the  Law  of  Lombardy,  resembles 
Shakespeare  extremely :  —  not  servilely,  but  with  free- 
no 


A  Lichfielcl   Chaplet 

dom,  strength,  and  happiness.  The  little  notice  which 
has  been  taken  of  those  plays,  compared  with  their  true 
claims  to  distinction,  convince  me  that  if  Shakespeare 
had  lived  and  written  in  these  days,  his  fame  and 
himself  had  not  been  contemporaries. 

With  your  censure  of  a  line  in  that  fine  ode  of  Gray's, 
on  the  installation  of  the  Duke  of  Grafton  at  Cambridge, 
I  do  not  quite  accord.  In  this  the  concluding  stanza  — 

"  Through  the  wild  waves,  as  they  roar, 
With  watchful  eye,  and  dauntless  mien, 
Thy  steady  cause  of  honour  keep  ; 
Nor  fear  the  rocks  nor  dread  the  shore, 
The  star  of  Brunswick  smiles  serene 
And  gilds  the  horrors  of  the  deep." 

You  say  that,  without  an  effort  of  memory,  you  never 
could  recollect  the  second  line  of  that  stanza,  and  have  at 
length  discovered  that  it  is  the  author's  fault,  being  a 
superfluous  line,  and  the  sense  of  the  passage  complete 
without  it.  I  confess  the  sense  of  the  passage  complete 
without  that  parenthetic  line,  but  it  appears  to  me  of  vital 
essentiality  to  the  picture.  Excluding  it,  there  remains, 
it  is  true,  a  clear  allusion  to  an  able  mariner  combating 
maritime  dangers,  but  no  distinct  image.  In  that  second 
line,  the  magic  of  the  poetic  wand  instantly  transforms 
the  minister  of  state  into  the  skilful  and  intrepid  naval 
commander,  standing  firm  on  the  deck,  and  eluding, 
"with  watchful  eye,  and  dauntless  mien."  the  fury  of  the 
tempest :  while  it  changes  our  monarch  into  the  polar- 
star,  discovering  the  rocks,  and  shining  a  way  in  the  sea, 
and  a  path  in  the  mighty  waters.  There  is  happy,  and 
1  think  Horatian  spirit,  in  your  ode  written  on  the 
northern  cruise.  The  address  to  the  moon  is  beautiful,  — 
particularly  in  the  manner  of  Horace. 
ill 


The  Second   Post 

Mischiefs,  many  and  various,  descend  upon  our  Island 
—  a  relentless  winter,  with  its  long  frosts  and  resistless 
floods,  has  augmented  the  miseries  of  a  rash  and  ill- 
managed  war,  and  almost  destroyed  the  verisimilitude  of 
one  feature  in  Johnson's  beautiful  picture  of  our  unhappy 
country,  the  blessings  of  which  seem,  to  transcend  the 
faith  of  his  Greenlander :  "We  live  not,  my  fair,  in  those 
fabled  countries  which  your  stanzas  so  wantonly  describe, 
where  the  whole  year  is  divided  into  short  days  and 
nights ;  where  its  inhabitants  may  pass  from  one  ex- 
tremity of  the  land  to  another,  through  ways  inclosed 
with  trees,  and  over  walls  raised  upon  the  inland 
waters." 

Our  young  prince  comes  to  us  at  an  inauspicious  period. 
Since  her  .royal  lover  so  long  declined  the  hymeneal 
chain,  he  had  better  have  waited  till  the  lilies  and  olives 
of  peace  might  enwreath  it.  O  !  that  our  rulers  would 
endeavour  to  procure  them  for  the  insignia  of  British 
sway,  rather  than  those  ensanguined  laurels,  which,  now 
so  evidently  placed  beyond  its  reach  —  stamp  the  con- 
tinuation of  this  desperate  struggle  to  obtain  them,  with 
very  criminal  rashness,  and  with  folly  that  amounts  to 
infatuation.  It  is  time,  it  has  long  been  time,  to  take  care 
of  our  existence  as  an  independent  nation.  As  for  the 
enslaving,  the  tyrannous,  the  murderous,  the  blasphemous 
anarchists  —  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the  Lord,  and  I 
will  repay  it. 

How  stood  your  health  the  seldom-paralleled  severity 
of  last  winter?  the  long  frost  and  its  undulating  disso- 
lution ? 

"What  art  thou,  frost?  and  whence  are  thy  keen  stores 
Derived,  thou  secret,  all-invading  power, 
Which  e'en  th'  illusive  flood  cannot  fly  ?  " 
112 


A  Lichfield   Chaplet 

Do  you  admire  the  charming  poet  who  asks  that 
question  in  his  Seasons  ?  —  Thomson  !  great  painter  of 
nature,  this  art  of  all  hours. 

Dropping  eyelids  reproach  my  pen  for  having  invaded 
the  hours  of  rest.  It  stands  corrected,  and  bids  you 
farewell ! 


DC 

OUR  VILLAGE  RECEIVES  THE  NEWS 
I 

(B.  R.  Haydon  to  Miss  Mitford) 

EDINBURGH,  December  5,  1820 

I  DINED  with  Walter  Scott,  and  was  delighted  with 
the  unaffected  simplicity  of  his  family.  Jeffrey  has 
a  singular  expression,  poignant,  bitter,  piercing  —  as  if  his 
countenance  never  lighted  up  but  at  the  perception  of 
some  weakness  in  human  nature.  Whatever  you  praise 
to  Jeffrey,  he  directly  chuckles  out  some  error  that  you 
did  not  perceive.  Whatever  you  praise  to  Scott,  he  joins 
heartily  with  yourself,  and  directs  your  attention  to  some 
additional  beauty.  Scott  throws  a  light  on  life  by  the 
beaming  geniality  of  his  soul,  and  so  dazzles  you  that  you 
have  no  time  or  perception  for  anything  but  its  beauties : 
while  Jeffrey  seems  to  revel  in  holding  up  his  hand  before 
the  light  in  order  that  he  may  spy  out  its  deformities. 
The  face  of  Scott  is  the  expression  of  a  man  whose  great 
pleasure  has  been  to  shake  nature  by  the  hand,  while  to 
point  at  her  with  his  finger  has  certainly,  from  the  expres- 
sion of  his  face,  been  the  chief  enjoyment  of  Jeffrey.  .  .  . 
114 


Our  Village  receives  the  News 

Wilson  I  think  the  most  powerful  mind  I  have  yet  en- 
countered here.  He  is  a  man  of  great  genius,  and  will 
be  a  distinguished  figure.  No  allusion  has  ever  passed 
about  the  "Magazine."  They  have  treated  me  with 
great  respect,  and  it  would  be  beneath  me  to  think  of  what 
is  passed.  There  is  a  great  concentration  of  talent  in 
Edinburgh,  but  yet  they  have  one  peculiarity  of  a  small 
town.  Their  stories  at  table  derive  their  relish  from  their 
individuality.  They  all  relate  to  some  one  local  celebrity 
that  you  must  know  in  order  to  enjoy  the  story.  In 
London,  on  the  contrary,  the  stories  always  refer  to  some 
general  principle  of  human  character  that  is  found  in  all 
the  world.  But  here,  they  are  about  "  Davie,"  or  "  Dick," 
or  "Sandy,"  or  some  one  you  never  heard  of,  who  is 
either  lame  or  stutters,  or  squints,  or  has  some  defect, 
which  is  not  general,  but  personal  and  peculiar.  This,  I 
suppose,  must  always  be  the  case  where  the  population  is 
limited,  and  society  confined  to  a  small  space. 

II 

September  8,  1822 

"DOOR  Hazlitt !  He  who  makes  so  free  with  the 
-*-  follies  of  his  friends,  is  of  all  mortals  the  most  open 
to  ridicule.  To  hear  him  repeat  in  a  solemn  tone  and 
with  agitated  mouth  the  things  of  love  he  said  to  her  (to 
convince  you  that  he  made  love  in  the  true  gallant  way), 
to  feel  the  beauty  of  the  sentiment,  and  then  look  up  and 
see  his  old  hard,  weather-beaten,  saturnine,  metaphysical 
face  — the  very  antidote  of  the  sentiment  —  twitching  all 
sorts  of  ways,  is  really  enough  to  provoke  a  saint  to 
laughter.  He  has  a  notion  that  women  have  never  liked 
him.  Since  this  affair  he  has  dressed  in  the  fashion,  and 
keeps  insinuating  his  improved  appearance.  He  springs 

"5 


The  Second   Post 

up  to  show  you  his  pantaloons !  What  a  being  it  is ! 
His  conversation  is  now  a  mixture  of  disappointed 
revenge,  passionate  remembrances,  fiendish  hopes,  and 
melting  lamentations.  I  feel  convinced  his  metaphysical 
habits  of  thinking  have  rendered  him  insensible  to  moral 
duty,  etc. 

Ill 

September  1823 

OH,    human    nature !    and    human    criticism !    Did 
mankind  know   the    motives  which   instigate   all 
criticism  on  living  talent,  or  within  ten  years  after  its 
existence,  how  cautious  it  would  be  of  suffering  itself  to 
be  led  by  modern  critics  !  .  .  . 

When  Keats  was  living,  I  could  not  get  Hazlitt  to 
admit  Keats  had  common  talents.  Death  seems  to  cut 
off  all  apprehensions  that  our  self-love  will  be  wounded 
by  acknowledging  genius.  But  let  us  see,  and  sift  the 
motives  of  this  sudden  change.  "Blackwood's"  people 
Hazlitt  would  murder,  morally  or  physically,  no  matter 
which,  but  to  murder  them  he  wishes.  To  suppose 
Keats's  death  entirely  brought  on  by  "Blackwood's" 
attacks  is  too  valuable  and  mortal  a  blow  to  be  given  up. 
With  the  wary  cunning  of  a  thoroughbred  modern  review 
writer,  he  dwells  on  this  touching  subject,  so  likely  to  be 
echoed  by  all  who  have  suffered  by  "Blackwood's" 
vindictive  animosities.  Now,  Keats  is  an  immortal ; 
before,  he  was  a  pretender !  Now,  his  sensitive  mind 
withered  under  their  "murderous  criticism,"  when,  had 
Keats  been  a  little  more  prominent,  Hazlitt,  as  soon  as 
any  man,  would  have  given  him  the  first  stab  !  He  thus 
revenges  his  own  mortification  by  pushing  forward  the 
shattered  ghost  of  poor  fated  Keats. 
116 


Our  Village  receives  the  News 

Hazlitt  and  his  innamorata  have  now  gone  to  Italy, 
the  land  of  Art,  and  he  has  left  the  "land  of  spinning- 
jennies  and  Sunday  schools,"  as  he  says  —  and,  as  he 
forgot  to  say,  the  land  also  of  Shakespeare  and  Milton, 
Bacon  and  Newton,  Hampden  and  Locke. 

IV 

May  31,  1824 

T  HAVE  not  yet  read  Byron's  "Conversations,"  but 
•*•  there  was  an  anecdote  in  one  of  the  extracts  which 
confirms  what  I  heard  long  since,  but  which  I  could  not 
depend  on  before.  He  had  an  aversion  to  see  women 

eat.     Colonel was  at  Byron's  house  in  Piccadilly. 

Lady  Byron  in  the  room,  and  "luncheon"  was  brought 
in  —  veal  cutlets,  etc.  She  began  eating.  Byron  turned 
round  in  disgust  and  said,  "Gormandizing  beast!"  and 
taking  up  the  tray,  threw  the  whole  luncheon  into  the 
hall.  Lady  Byron  cried,  and  left  the  room. 

Byron  hated  to  be  interrupted  when  he  was  writing, 
then  why  she  did  interrupt  him  ?  Because  she  thought 
it  was  a  whim.  To  her  and  her  dear  delightful  maid  it 
might  appear  a  whim ;  but  if,  at  that  moment,  he  was 
conceiving  some  beautiful  thoughts,  what  can  you  think 
of  a  woman  who,  for  some  trifle,  would  interrupt  her 
husband's  conceptions  ?  I  have  never  said  a  cold  thing, 
much  more  a  harsh  one,  to  Mary,  but  if  she  had  come 
into  my  room  and  asked  me  if  I  would  like  roast  mutton 
for  dinner  when  I  was  conceiving  "Lazarus,"  I  think  she 
would  never  have  come  in  a  second  time.  Setting  aside 
that,  women  of  rank  and  family  are  not  fitted  for  "Love 
and  Genius."  Their  pride,  their  importance,  their  habits 
of  separate  rooms,  footmen,  carriages,  maids,  and  con- 
117 


The  Second   Post 

fidantes,  are  inconsistent  with  the  care  a  man  of  genius 
requires.  But  every  wind  blows  intelligence  that  we  are 
right  in  our  estimation  of  Byron's  character. 


May  31,  1824 

A  FRIEND  of  mine  has  been  spending  some  time  at 
Sir  Walter  Scott's.  Scott  is  liable  to  great 
intrusions  of  every  kind.  A  stupid  chattering  fellow  got 
at  him  by  a  letter,  and  stayed  a  week.  He  was  a  great 
bore,  and  my  friend  and  another  visitor  were  obliged  one 
day  to  retire  to  a  window  to  avoid  laughing  outright. 
Sir  Walter  hobbled  up  to  them  and  said,  "Come,  come, 
young  gentlemen,  be  more  respectful.  I  assure  you  it 
requires  no  small  talents  to  be  a  decided  bore!"  I  like 
this  !  there  is  the  geniality  of  the  "Unknown"  in  it. 

VI 

August  18,  1826 

THE  other  night  I  paid  my  butcher;  one  of  the 
miracles  of  these  times,  you  will  say.  Let  me  tell 
you,  I  have  all  my  life  been  seeking  for  a  butcher  whose 
respect  for  genius  predominated  over  his  love  of  gain.  I 
could  not  make  out,  before  I  dealt  with  this  man,  his 
excessive  desire  that  I  should  be  his  customer;  his  sly 
hints  as  I  passed  his  shop  that  he  had  "a  bit  of  South 
Down  very  fine ;  a  sweetbread,  perfection ;  and  a  calf's 
foot  that  was  all  jelly  without  bone  ! "  The  other  day  he 
called,  and  I  had  him  sent  up  into  the  paintirfg-room.  I 
found  him  in  great  admiration  of  "Alexander."  "Quite 
alive,  sir!"  "I  am  glad  you  think  so,"  said  I.  "Yes, 
sir ;  but,  as  I  have  often  said  to  my  sister,  you  could  not 
118 


Our  Village  receives  the  News 

have  painted  that  picture,  sir,  if  you  had  not  eat  my 
meat,  sir!"  "Very  true,  Mr.  Sowerby."  "Ah!  sir,  I 
have  a  fancy  for  genus,  sir  ! "  "Have  you,  Mr.  Sowerby  ?  " 
"Yes,  sir;  Mrs.  Siddons,  sir,  has  eat  my  meat,  sir;"  never' 
was  stick  a  woman  for  chops,  sir!"  —  and  he  drew  up  his 
beefy,  shiny  face,  clean  shaved,  with  a  clean  blue  cravat 
under  his  chin,  a  clean  jacket,  a  clean  apron,  and  a  pair 
of  hands  that  would  pin  an  ox  to  the  earth  if  he  was 
obstreperous  —  "Ah  !  sir,  she  was  a  wonderful  crayture  !" 
"She  was,  Mr.  Sowerby."  "Ah!  sir,  when  she  used  to 
act  that  there  character,  you  see  (but  Lord,  such  a  head  ! 
as  I  say  to  my  sister)  —  that  there  woman,  sir,  that 
murders  a  king  between  'em  !"  "Oh  !  Lady  Macbeth." 
"Ah,  sir,  that's  it  —  Lady  Macbeth  —  I  used  to  get  up 
with  the  butler  behind  her  carriage  when  she  acted,  and, 
as  I  used  to  see  her  looking  quite  wild,  and  all  the  people 
quite  frightened,  'Ah,  ha !  my  lady,'  says  I,  'if  it  wasn't 
for  my  meat,  though,  you  wouldn't  be  able  to  do  Ilial!'" 
"Mr.  Sowerby,  you  seem  to  be  a  man  of  feeling ;  will  you 
take  a  glass  of  wine  ?  "  After  a  bow  or  two,  down  he  sat, 
and  by  degrees  his  heart  opened.  "You  see,  sir,  I  have 
fed  Mrs.  Siddons,  sir;.  John  Kemble,  sir;  Charles 
Kemble,  sir;  Stephen  Kemble,  sir;  and  Madame 
Catalini,  sir;  Morland  the  painter,  and  I  beg  your 
pardon,  sir,  and  you,  sir."  "Mr.  Sowerby,  you  do  me 
honour."  "Madame  Catalini,  sir,  was  a  wonderful 
woman  for  sweetbreads ;  but  the  Kemble  family,  sir,  the 
gentlemen,  sir,  rump-steaks  and  kidneys  in  general  was 
their  taste ;  but  Mrs.  Siddons,  sir,  she  liked  chops,  sir,  as 
much  as  you  do,  sir,"  etc.  etc.  I  soon  perceived  that  the 
man's  ambition  was  to  feed  genius.  I  shall  recommend 
you  to  him ;  but  is  he  not  a  capital  fellow  ?  But  a  little 
acting  with  his-  remarks  would  make  you  roar  with 
119 


The  Second  Post 

laughter.  Think  of  Lady  Macbeth  eating  chops !  Is 
this  not  a  peep  behind  the  curtain  ?  I  remember  Wilkie 
saying  that  at  a  public  dinner  he  was  looking  out  for  some 
celebrated  man,  when  at  last  he  caught  a  glimpse  for  the 
first  time  of  a  man  whose  books  he  had  read  with  care 
for  years,  picking  the  leg  of  a  roast  goose,  perfectly 
abstracted ! 


120 


X 

THE  LADY  OF  LES  ROCHERS 

(Translated  by  Janet  Aldis) 

I 
Madame  de  Sevigne  to  her  daughter    "^y        -v^y        *^y 

PARIS,  December  15,  1670 

F  AM  going  to  tell  you  of  an  event  which  is  the  most 
•*•  astonishing,  the  most  surprising,  the  most  marvellous, 
the  most  miraculous,  the  most  magnificent,  the  most 
bewildering,  the  most  unheard-off,  the  most  singular,  the 
most  extraordinary,  the  most  incredible,  the  most 
unexpected,  the  greatest,  the  least,  the  most  rare,  the 
most  common,  the  most  public,  the  most  private  till 
to-day,  the  most  brilliant,  the  most  enviable,  in  short,  an 
event  to  which  there  is  only  one  parallel  to  be  found  in 
past  ages,  and  even  that  not  an  exact  one;  an  event 
which  we  cannot  believe  in  Paris  (how  then  can  it  be 
believed  in  Lyons  ?) ,  an  event  which  makes  everybody 
exclaim,  "Lord,  have  mercy  upon  us!"  an  event  which 
causes  the  greatest  joy  to  Madame  de  Rohan  and 
Madame  d'Hauterive ;  an  event,  in  fact,  which  will  take 
121 


The  Second   Post 

place  on  Sunday  next,  when  those  who  are  present  will 
doubt  the  evidence  of  their  senses ;  an  event  which, 
though  it  is  to  happen  on  Sunday,  may  perhaps  not  be 
accomplished  on  Monday.  I  cannot  persuade  myself  to 
tell  you.  Guess  what  it  is !  I  give  you  three  guesses. 
Do  you  give  it  up  ?  Well,  then,  I  must  tell  you. 
Monsieur  de  Lauzun  is  to  be  married  next  Sunday  at  the 
Louvre  —  guess  to  whom  !  I  give  you  four  guesses,  I 
give  you  ten,  I  give  you  a  hundred.  Madame  de  Cou- 
langes  says,  "It  is  not  very  difficult  to  guess,  it  is  Madame 
de  la  Valliere."  You  are  quite  wrong,  Madame.  "It  is 
Mademoiselle  de  Retz,  then."  No,  it  is  not ;  you  are  very 
provincial. 

"Dear  me,  how  stupid  we  are,"  you  exclaim,  "it  is 
Mademoiselle  de  Colbert,  of  course."  You  are  farther  off 
than  ever.  "Then  it  must  be  Mademoiselle  de  Crequi." 
You  are  no  nearer.  Well,  I  find  I  must  tell  you.  He  is 
to  marry  on  Sunday  at  the  Louvre,  with  the  King's 
permission,  Mademoiselle,  Mademoiselle  de  —  Made- 
moiselle —  guess  the  name  !  he  is  to  marry  Mademoiselle, 
my  faith  !  by  my  faith  !  my  sworn  faith  !  Mademoiselle, 
La  Grande  Mademoiselle ;  Mademoiselle,  daughter  of 
the  late  Monsieur ;  Mademoiselle,  granddaughter  of 
Henry  IV;  Mademoiselle  d'Eu,  Mademoiselle  de 
Dombes,  Mademoiselle  de  Montpensier,  Mademoiselle 
d'Orleans ;  Mademoiselle,  first  cousin  to  the  King ; 
Mademoiselle,  once  destined  for  the  throne;  Made- 
moiselle, the  only  person  in  France  worthy  of  Monsieur. 
Here  is  a  fine  subject  for  conversation.  If  you  cry  out, 
if  you  are  beside  yourselves,  if  you  say  we  are  deceiving 
you,  that  it  is  false,  that  we  are  laughing  at  you,  that  it  is 
a  pretty  joke,  that  it  is  a  very  poor  invention  ;  if,  in  fact, 
you  abuse  us,  we  shall  say  you  are  right,  for  we  have 
122 


The  Lady  of  Les  Rochers 

done  the  same  ourselves.  Adieu.  You  will  see  by  the 
letters  you  receive  by  this  post  whether  I  am  telling  you 
the  truth  or  not. 


n 

Ax  M.  DE  LA  ROCHEFOUCAULD'S  HOUSE 
Friday  evening,  April  24,  1671 

HERE,  then,  I  make  up  my  packet.  I  had  intended 
to  tell  you  that  the  King  arrived  yesterday  evening 
at  Chantilly ;  and  that  he  hunted  a  stag  by  moonlight. 
The  illuminations  were  wonderful ;  the  fireworks  were 
a  little  eclipsed  by  our  friend  the  moon,  it  is  true,  but  the 
evening,  the  supper,  and  the  entertainment,  all  went  off 
admirably.  .  .  .  But  what  do  you  think  I  learned  when 
I  came  here  ?  I  am  not  yet  recovered,  and  hardly  know 
what  I  write.  Vatel,  the  great  Vatel,  late  maitre  d'hotel 
to  M.  Foucquet,  and  now  acting  in  that  capacity  to 
M.  Le  Prince,  that  man  of  such  distinguished  capability 
above  all  others,  whose  abilities  were  equal  to  govern- 
ing a  State ;  this  man  whom  I  knew  so  well,  finding 
that  the  fish  did  not  come,  ran  himself  through  with  a 
sword.  .-„  . 

I  wrote  to  you  last  Friday  that  he  had  stabbed  himself, 
and  here  are  the  particulars  of  the  affair.  The  King 
arrived  there  on  Thursday  evening,  and  the  hunt,  the 
illuminations,  the  moonlight,  the  promenade,  the  banquet 
in  a  place  strewn  with  jonquils,  were  all  that  could  be 
desired.  Supper  was  served,  but  there  were  some  tables 
at  which  there  was  no  roast  meat,  because  Vatel  had 
had  to  provide  several  dinners  that  had  not  been  expected. 
This  greatly  troubled  Vatel,  who  was  heard  to  say  several 
123 


The  Second  Post 

times,  "I  have  lost  my  honour;  I  cannot  endure  this 
disgrace ! " 

"My  head  is  quite  bewildered,"  he  said  to  Gourville; 
"I  have  not  slept  for  twelve  nights;  I  wish  you  would 
help  me  to  give  orders." 

Gourville  did  all  he  could  to  assist  and  console  him, 
but  the  failure  of  the  roast  meat  —  which,  however,  did 
not  happen  at  the  King's  table,  but  at  some  of  the  other 
twenty-five  —  was  always  in  his  mind.  Gourville  men- 
tioned it  to  the  Prince,  who  went  to  Vatel's  room,  and 
said  to  him  — 

"Everything  is  admirably  managed,  Vatel;  nothing 
could  be  better  than  the  King's  supper." 

"Your  goodness  overwhelms  me,  Monseigneur,"  re- 
plied Vatel,  "but  I  know  there  was  no  roast  meat  at  two 
tables." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  the  Prince;  "do  not  distress  your- 
self, and  all  will  be  well.  .  .  ." 

At  four  o'clock  the  next  morning,  Vatel  went  round 
and  found  every  one  asleep.  He  met  one  of  the  under- 
purveyors,  who  had  just  brought  in  a  load  of  fish. 

"Is  this  all?"  asked  Vatel. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  man,  who  did  not  know  that  Vatel 
had  ordered  fish  from  all  the  seaports  round. 

He  waited  for  some  time,  but  the  other  purveyors  did 
not  come ;  his  head  grew  distracted ;  he  believed  there 
was  no  more  fish  to  be  had.  He  then  went  to  Gourville 
and  exclaimed  — 

"Sir,  I  cannot  outlive  this  disgrace;  I  shall  lose  my 
honour  and  reputation;"  but  Gourville  only  laughed 
at  him. 

Vatel,  however,  went  to  his  room,  and,  placing  the  hilt 
of  his  sword  against  the  door,  after  two  ineffectual 
124 


The  Lady  of  Les  Rochers 

attempts  succeeded  the  third  time  in  forcing  the  sword 
through  his  heart,  and  he  fell  dead. 

At  that  instant  the  purveyors  arrived  with  the  fish,  and 
search  was  made  for  Vatel,  to  distribute  it.  They  went 
to  his  room;  they  knocked,  and  receiving  no  answer, 
they  broke  open  the  door,  and  discovered  him  lying  in  a 
pool  of  blood.  .  .  . 

Ill 

LES  ROCHERS,  June  28,  1671 

WE  read  Tasso  with  pleasure,  and  I  am  fairly  pro- 
ficient in  the  language,  thanks  to  the  excellent 
masters  I  have  had.  My  son  makes  La  Mousse  read 
Cleopatre,  and  I  listen  to  him  whether  I  will  or  not,  and 
am  amused.  My  son  is  going  to  Lorraine ;  we  shall  be 
very  dull  in  his  absence.  You  know  how  it  vexes  me  to 
see  the  breaking  up  of  an  agreeable  party,  and  how 
delighted  I  am  when  I  see  a  carriage  driving  off  with 
people  who  have  wearied  me  to  death  all  day ;  upon 
which  we  might  make  the  observation  that  bad  company 
is  more  desirable  than  good.  I  recollect  all  the  odd 
things  we  used  to  say  when  you  were  here,  and  all  you 
said  yourself,  and  all  you  did ;  the  thought  of  you  never 
leaves  me ;  and  then,  again,  I  suddenly  remember  where 
you  are,  my  imagination  represents  to  me  an  immense 
space  and  a  great  distance ;  suddenly  your  Castle  bounds 
the  prospect,  and  I  am  displeased  at  the  walls  that 
enclose  your  mall.  Ours  is  surprisingly  beautiful,  and 
the  young  nursery  is  delightful.  I  take  pleasure  in  rear- 
ing their  little  heads  to  the  clouds ;  and  frequently,  with- 
out considering  consequences  or  my  own  interests,  cut 
down  the  tall  trees  because  their  shade  is  bad  for  my 

125 


The  Second  Post 

young  ones.     My  son  looks  on  at  all  these  proceedings, 
but  I  do  not  allow  him  to  interfere. 

Pilois  continues  to  be  a  great  favourite  with  me,  and  I 
prefer  his  conversation  to  that  of  many  who  have  the  title 
of  chevalier  in  the  Parlement  of  Rennes.  I  have  grown 
rather  more  unceremonious  than  you,  for  the  other  day  I 
let  a  carriageful  of  the  Fouesnel  family  go  home  through 
a  tremendous  rain  for  want  of  a  little  pressing  them  with 
a  good  grace  to  stay ;  but  I  could  not  get  the  compliment 
to  pass  my  lips  !  .  .  .  I  have  just  been  writing  to  Vivonne 
about  a  captain  of  a  group  of  gypsies,  whose  confinement 
I  have  begged  him  to  make  as  easy  as  possible,  without 
detriment  to  the  King's  service.  You  must  know  that 
among  the  band  of  Bohemians  I  mentioned  to  you  the 
other  day,  was  a  young  girl  who  danced  extremely  well, 
and  who  put  me  very  much  in  mind  of  you.  I  was  pleased 
with  her,  and  she  begged  me  to  write  to  Provence  in 
favour  of  her  grandfather.  "Where  is  he?"  Tasked. 
"He  is  at  Marseilles,"  said  she,  with  as  much  composure 
and  unconcern  as  if  she  had  said,  "He  is  at  Vincennes." 
He  was  a  man  of  singular  merit,  it  appears,  in  his  way : 
in  short,  I  promised  to  write  about  him.  I  immediately 
thought  of  Vivonne,  and  I  send  you  the  letter  I  have 
written  to  him.  If  you  are  not  on  such  terms  with  him 
as  will  allow  me  to  jest,  you  may  burn  it ;  but  if  you  are 
friendly  with  his  corpulency,  and  my  letter  will  save  you 
the  trouble  of  writing  one,  seal  it  and  send  it  to  him. 
I  could  not  refuse  this  request  to  the  poor  girl,  and  to  the 
best-danced  minuet  that  I  have  seen  since  the  days  of 
Mademoiselle  de  SeVigne.  She  had  just  your  air ;  with 
good  teeth  and  fine  eyes,  and  was  about  your  height. 


126 


The  Lady  of  Les  Rochers 


IV 

I  have  bought  some  stuff  like  your  last  petticoat  to 
make  a  morning-gown,  and  it  is  very  beautiful.  There 
is  a  shade  of  green  in  it,  but  violet  predominates ;  in 
short,  I  could  not  resist  the  purchase.  They  would  have 
me  line  it  with  flame-colour,  but  this  appeared  to  me 
inconsistent ;  for  while  the  outside  is  expressive  of  frailty, 
the  inside  would  have  signified  impenitence,  even  ob- 
duracy, so  I  fixed  on  a  white  taffety.  I  have  put  myself 
to  very  little  expense,  as  I  hate  Brittany,  and  shall  be 
most  economical  till  I  come  to  Provence,  that  I  may  then 
support  the  position  and  dignity  of  the  middle-aged 
wonder  that  you  have  represented  me  to  be. 


Aux  ROCHERS,  November  13, 1675 

.  .  .  "\70U  are  surprised  to  hear  I  have  a  little  dog ; 
JL  this  is  how  it  happened.  One  day  I  was 
calling  a  little  dog  which  belongs  to  a  lady  who  lives  at 
the  end  of  the  park.  Madame  de  Tarente  said  to  me : 
"  What !  do  you  like  dogs  ?  I  will  send  you  one  of  the 
prettiest  you  have  ever  seen."  I  thanked  her,  and  said 
I  had  made  a  resolution  never  again  to  indulge  myself 
in  an  affection  of  that  kind ;  so  the  subject  was  dropped, 
and  I  thought  no  more  of  it.  A  few  days  after,  I  saw  a 
footman  bringing  a  little  dog-kennel,  all  decorated  with 
ribbons,  and  out  of  this  pretty  kennel  jumped  a  little 
perfumed  dog,  quite  extraordinary  beautiful,  with  ears, 
coat,  and  sweet  breath  like  a  little  sylph,  the  fairest  of  the 
fair.  I  was  never  more  surprised  or  more  embarrassed. 
127 


The  Second   Post 

I  would  have  returned  it,  but  the  servant  would  not  take 
it  back;  though  the  chamber-maid  who  had  reared  it 
was  fit  to  die  with  grief  for  the  loss  of  it.  It  is  Marie 
who  is  so  fond  of  it ;  he  sleeps  in  his  kennel  in  Beaulieu's 
room,  and  eats  nothing  but  bread.  I  try  not  to  become 
too  attached  to  it,  but  it  begins  to  like  me,  and  I  am 
afraid  I  shall  succumb  to  its  affection.  This  is  the  story 
which  I  beg  you  not  to  tell  to  Marphise  (her  pet  dog)  at 
Paris,  for  I  dread  her  reproaches.  But  it  is  the  cleanliest 
little  animal  you  ever  saw ;  its  name  is  Fidele,  a  name,  I 
believe,  that  the  lovers  of  the  Princess  have  never 
deserved,  though  they  have  been  of  some  importance. 
Some  day  I  will  amuse  you  with  her  adventures.  Her 
style,  it  is  true,  is  full  of  faintings,  and  I  do  not  think 
she  has  had  sufficient  leisure  to  love  her  daughter,  not  at 
least  as  I  love  mine.  More  than  one  heart  would  be 
necessary  to  love  so  many  things  at  once,  and  I  perceive 
every  day  that  the  great  fish  eat  up  all  the  little  ones.  If 
you  are,  as  you  say,  very  preservative,  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  you.  I  cannot  too  highly  prize  the  love  I  have 
for  you.  I  do  not  know  from  what  dangers  it  has  guarded 
me,  but  if  it  were  from  fire  or  from  water,  it  could  not 
be  dearer  to  me  than  it  is. 

VI 

WEDNESDAY,  May  20,  1676 

HPO-DAY  I  began  the  pump  operation,  and  it  is  not 

-A-    a  bad   foretaste   of   purgatory.      The   patient   is 

quite  naked  in  a  little  underground  room,  where  there  is 

a  tube  of  hot  water  which  a  woman  directs  wherever  you 

wish.     Behind  the  curtain  is  a  person  who  sustains  your 

courage  for  half  an  hour.     A  physician  of  Ganot  fell  to 

128 


The  Lady  of  Les  Rochers 

my  lot ;  a  very  worthy  man,  who  is  neither  a  quack  nor 
a  bigot;  I  shall  keep  him  though  it  cost  me  my  cap, 
for  the  doctors  here  are  unbearable,  and  this  man 
amuses  me ;  he  has  wit  and  honesty,  and  knows  the 
world.  He  talked  to  me  the  whole  time  I  was  under 
torture.  Just  think  of  a  spout  of  water  pouring  over  one 
or  other  of  your  poor  limbs  !  It  is  first  applied  to  every 
part  of  the  body  to  rouse  the  spirits,  and  then  to  the 
affected  joints;  but  when  it  comes  to  the  nape  of  the 
neck,  the  heat  produces  such  a  surprise  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  describe  it.  However,  it  is  necessary  to 
suffer,  and  we  do  suffer,  but  we  are  not  quite  scalded  to 
death ;  and  we  are  then  put  into  a  warm  bed,  where  we 
perspire  profusedly,  and  in  this  way  we  are  cured. 

It  is  like  taking  a  new  lease  of  life  and  health,  and  if  I 
could  only  see  and  embrace  you  once  more,  with  a  heart 
overflowing  with  tenderness  and  joy,  you  would  perhaps 
again  call  me  your  bellissima  madre,  and  I  should  not 
give  up  the  title  of  mere-beaut^  with  which  M.  de  Coul- 
anges  has  honoured  me. 

Madame  de  Brissac  was  ill  to-day,  and  remained  in 
bed,  with  her  hair  dressed  so  beautifully,  and  looking  so 
handsome,  that  she  was  fit  to  turn  everybody's  head.  I 
wished  you  could  have  seen  how  prettily  she  managed 
her  sufferings,  her  eyes,  her  arms,  and  her  cries,  with  her 
hands  lying  helplessly  in  the  quilt,  and  looking  for  the 
sympathy  she  expected  from  all  bystanders.  I  was  quite 
overcome  with  tenderness  and  admiration  as  I  watched 
this  little  performance,  and  though  it  is  so  excellent  that 
my  evident  attention  must  have  given  much  satisfaction. 
Just  think  this  scene  was  played  entirely  on  account  of 
the  Abbe  Bayard,  Saint  Herem,  Montjeu  and  Plancy ! 
My  child,  when  I  remember  with  what  simplicity  you  are 
K  129 


The  Second   Post 

ill,  and  the  calmness  in  your  pretty  face,  you  seem  to  me 
a  mere  bungler !  What  a  difference !  I  found  it  very 
amusing. 

VII 

I  love  Pauline ;  you  describe  her  as  pretty  and  good- 
humoured  ;  I  can  see  her  running  everywhere  and  telling 
every  one  of  the  taking  of  Philipsburg.  Love,  love  your 
daughter,  my  dear  child;  it  is  the  most  natural  and 
delightful  occupation  in  the  world. 


130 


XI 

CARLYLE  DISCOVERS  LONDON 
Thomas  Carlyle  to  Alexander  Carlyle   ^>        "^        ^> 

I 

-  June  25,  1824 

WHEN  I  see  you  I  will  tell  you  of  Westminster 
Abbey ;  and  St.  Paul's,  the  only  edifice  that 
ever  struck  me  with  a  proper  sense  of  grandeur.  I  was 
hurrying  along  Cheapside  into  Newgate  Street  among  a 
thousand  bustling  pigmies  and  the  innumerable  jinglings 
and  rollings  and  crashings  of  many-coloured  Labour, 
when  all  at  once  in  passing  from  the  abode  of  John 
Gilpin,  stunned  by  the  tumult  of  his  restless  compeers,  I 
looked  up  from  the  boiling  throng  through  a  little 
opening  at  the  corner  of  the  street  —  and  there  stood 
St.  Paul's  —  with  its  columns  and  friezes,  and  massy  wings 
of  bleached  yet  unworn  stone ;  with  its  statues  and  its 
graves  around  it;  with  its  solemn  dome  four  hundred 
feet  above  me,  and  its  gilded  ball  and  cross  gleaming  in 
the  evening  sun,  piercing  up  into  the  heaven  through  the 
vapours  of  our  earthly  home !  It  was  silent  as  Tadmor 
of  the  Wilderness ;  gigantic,  beautiful,  enduring ;  it 
seemed  to  frown  with  a  rebuking  pity  on  the  vain 


The  Second   Post 

scramble  which  it  overlooked :  at  its  feet  were  tomb- 
stones, above  it  was  the  everlasting  sky,  within  priests 
perhaps  were  chanting  hymns ;  it  seemed  to  transmit 
with  a  stern  voice  the  sounds  of  Death,  Judgment  and 
Eternity  through  all  the  frivolous  and  fluctuating  city. 
I  saw  it  oft  and  from  various  points,  and  never  without 
new  admiration. 

Did  you  get  Meister,  and  how  do  you  dislike  it  ?  For 
really  it  is  a  most  mixed  performance,  and  though 
intellectually  good,  much  of  it  is  morally  bad.  It  is 
making  way  here  perhaps  —  but  slowly  :  a  second  edition 
seems  a  dubious  matter.  No  difference !  I  have  the 
produce  of  the  first  lying  here  beside  me  in  hard  notes 
of  the  Bank  of  England,  and  fear  no  weather.  I 
bought  myself  a  suit  of  fine  clothes  for  six  pounds; 
a  good  watch  for  six;  and  these  were  nearly  all  my 
purchases.  .  .  . 

II 

December  14,  1824 

MY  DEAR  ALICK,  —  ...  Your  letter  found  me  in 
due  season ;  and  a  welcome  visitant  it  was.  I 
had  got  the  Courier  that  preceded  it,  and  the  intelligence 
of  your  proceedings  and  welfare  was  no  small  relief  to 
me.  You  must  thank  our  Mother  in  my  name  in  the 
warmest  terms  for  her  kind  note,  which  I  have  read 
again  and  again  with  an  attention  rarely  given  to  more 
polished  compositions.  The  sight  of  her  rough  true- 
hearted  writing  is  more  to  me  than  the  finest  penmanship 
and  the  choicest  rhetoric.  It  takes  me  home  to  honest 
kindness,  and  affection  that  will  never  fail  me.  You  also 
132 


Carlyle  discovers  London 

I  must  thank  for  your  graphic  picture  of  Mainhill  and  its 
neighbourhood.  How  many  changes  happen  in  this 
restless  roundabout  of  life  within  a  little  space  !  .  .  . 

In  London,  or  rather  in  my  own  small  sphere  of  it, 
there  has  nothing  sinister  occurred  since  I  wrote  last. 
After  abundant  scolding,  which  sometimes  rose  to  the 
very  borders  of  bullying,  those  unhappy  people  [the 
publishers]  are  proceeding  pretty  regularly  with  the 
Book ;  a  fifth  part  of  it  is  already  printed ;  they  are  also 
getting  a  portrait  of  Schiller  engraved  for  it ;  and  I  hope 
in  about  six  weeks  the  thing  will  be  off  my  hands. 
It  will  make  a  reasonable  looking  book;  somewhat 
larger  than  a  volume  of  Meister,  and  done  in  somewhat 
of  the  same  style.  In  the  course  of  printing  I  have 
various  matters  to  attend  to ;  proofs  to  read ;  additions, 
alterations  to  make;  which  furnishes  me  with  a  very 
canny  occupation  for  the  portion  of  the  day  I  can  devote 
to  labour.  I  work  some  three  or  four  hours ;  read  for 
amusement  chiefly  about  as  long ;  walk  about  these 
dingy  streets,  and  talk  with  originals  for  the  rest  of  the 
day.  On  the  whole  I  have  not  been  happier  for  many  a 
long  month :  I  feel  content  to  let  things  take  their  turn 
till  I  am  free  of  engagements ;  and  then  —  for  a  stern 
and  serious  tujflc  with  my  Fate,  which  I  have  vowed  and 
determined  to  alter  from  the  very  bottom,  health  and 
all !  This  will  not  be  impossible,  or  even  I  think  ex- 
tremely difficult.  Far  beyond  a  million  of  "weaker 
vessels,"  than  I  are  sailing  very  comfortably  along  the 
tide  of  life  just  here.  What  good  is  it  to  whine  and 
whimper  ?  Let  every  man  that  has  an  ounce  of  strength 
in  him  get  up  and  put  it  forth  in  Heaven's  name,  and 
labour  that  his  "soul  may  live." 

Of  this  enormous  Babel  of  a  place  I  can  give  you  no 

133 


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account  in  writing :  it  is  like  the  heart  of  all  the  universe ; 
and  the  flood  of  human  effort  rolls  out  of  it  and  into  it 
with  a  violence  that  almost  appals  one's  very  sense. 
Paris  scarcely  occupies  a  quarter  of  the  ground,  and 
does  not  seem  to  have  the  twentieth  part  of  the  business. 
O  that  our  father  saw  Holborn  in  a  fog !  with  the  black 
vapour  brooding  over  it,  absolutely  like  fluid  ink;  and 
coaches  and  wains  and  sheep  and  oxen  and  wild  people 
rushing  on  with  bellowings  and  shrieks  and  thundering 
din,  as  if  the  earth  in  general  were  gone  distracted.  To- 
day I  chanced  to  pass  through  Smithfield,  when  the 
market  was  three-fourths  over.  I  mounted  the  steps  of 
a  door,  and  looked  abroad  upon  the  area,  an  irregular 
space  of  perhaps  thirty  acres  in  extent,  encircled  with  old 
dingy  brick-built  houses,  and  intersected  with  wooden 
pens  for  the  cattle.  What  a  scene  !  Innumerable  herds 
of  fat  oxen,  tied  in  long  rows,  or  passing  at  a  trot  to  their 
several  shambles;  and  thousands  of  graziers,  drovers, 
butchers,  cattle-brokers  with  their  quilted  frocks  and 
long  goads  pushing  on  the  hapless  beasts ;  hurrying  to 
and  fro  in  confused  parties,  shouting,  jostling,  cursing,  in 
the  midst  of  rain  and  shairn,  and  braying  discord  such  as 
the  imagination  cannot  figure.  Then  there  are  stately 
streets  and  squares,  and  calm  green  recesses  to  which 
nothing  of  this  abomination  is  permitted  to  enter.  No 
wonder  Cobbett  calls  the  place  a  Wen.  It  is  a  monstrous 
Wen !  The  thick  smoke  of  it  beclouds  a  space  of  thirty 
square  miles;  and  a  million  of  vehicles,  from  the  dog- 
or  cuddy-barrow  to  the  giant  waggon,  grind  along  its 
streets  for  ever.  I  saw  a  six-horse  wain  the  other  day 
with,  I  think,  number  200,000  and  odds  upon  it ! 

There  is  an  excitement  in  all  this,  which  is  pleasant  as 
a  transitory  feeling,  but  much  against  my  taste  as  a  per- 

134 


Carlyle  discovers  London 

manent  one.  I  had  much  rather  visit  London  from  time 
to  time,  than  live  in  it.  There,  is  in  fact  no  right  life  in 
it  that  I  can  find :  the  people  are  situated  here  like  plants 
in  a  hot-house,  to  which  the  quiet  influences  of  sky  and 
earth  are  never  in  their  unadulterated  state  admitted.  It 
is  the  case  with  all  ranks;  the  carman  with  his  huge 
slouch-hat  hanging  half-way  down  his  back,  consumes 
his  breakfast  of  bread  and  tallow  or  hog's  lard,  some- 
times as  he  swags  along  the  streets,  always  in  a  hurried 
and  precarious  fashion,  and  supplies  the  deficit  by 
continual  pipes,  and  pots  of  beer.  The  fashionable 
lady  rises  at  three  in  the  afternoon,  and  begins  to  live 
towards  midnight.  Between  these  two  extremes,  the 
same  false  and  tumultuous  manner  of  existence  more 
or  less  infests  all  ranks.  It  seems  as  if  you  were  for 
ever  in  "an  inn,"  the  feeling  of  home  in  our  acceptation 
of  the  term  is  not  known  to  one  of  a  thousand.  You  are 
packed  into  paltry  shells  of  brick-houses  (calculated  to 
endure  for  forty  years,  and  then  fall) ;  every  door  that 
slams  to  in  the  street  is  audible  in  your  most  secret 
chamber ;  the  necessaries  of  life  are  hawked  about 
through  multitudes  of  hands,  and  reach  you,  frequently 
adulterated,  always  at  rather  more  than  twice  their  cost 
elsewhere;  people's  friends  must  visit  them  by  rule  and 
measure ;  and  when  you  issue  from  your  door,  you  are 
assailed  by  vast  shoals  of  quacks,  and  showmen,  and 
streetsweepers,  and  pickpockets,  and  mendicants  of 
every  degree  and  shape,  all  plying  in  noise  or  silent 
craft  their  several  vocations,  all  in  their  hearts  like  "lions 
ravening  for  their  prey."  The  blackguard  population  of 
the  place  is  the  most  consummately  blackguard  of  any- 
thing I  ever  saw. 
Yet  the  people  are  in  general  a  frank,  jolly,  well-living, 

135 


The  Second   Post 

kindly  people.  You  get  a  certain  way  in  their  good 
graces  with  great  ease :  they  want  little  more  with  you 
than  now  and  then  a  piece  of  recreating  conversation, 
and  you  are  quickly  on  terms  for  giving  and  receiving 
it.  Farther,  I  suspect,  their  nature  or  their  habits  seldom 
carry  or  admit  them.  I  have  found  one  or  two  strange 
mortals,  whom  I  sometimes  stare  to  see  myself  beside. 
There  is  Crabb  Robinson,  an  old  Templar  (Advocate 
dwelling  in  the  Temple),  who  gives  me  coffee  and  Sally- 
Lunns  (a  sort  of  buttered  roll),  and  German  books,  and 
talk  by  the  gallon  in  a  minute.  His  windows  look  into  — 
Alsatia !  With  the  Montagus  I,  once  a  week  or  so,  step 
in  and  chat  away  a  friendly  hour  :  they  are  good  clever 
people,  though  their  goodness  and  cleverness  are  strangely 
mingled  with  absurdity  in  word  and  deed.  They  like  me 
very  well :  I  saw  Badams  there  last  night ;  I  am  to  see  him 
more  at  large  to-morrow  or  soon  after.  Mrs.  Strachey 
has  twice  been  here  to  see  me  —  in  her  carriage,  a  circum- 
stance of  strange  omen  to  our  worthy  [friend].  .  .  . 
Among  the  Poets  I  see  Procter  and  Allan  Cunningham  as 
often  as  I  like :  the  other  night  I  had  a  second  and  much 
longer  talk  with  Campbell.  I  went  over  with  one 
Macbeth,  not  the  "Usurper,"  but  a  hapless  Preacher 
from  Scotland,  whose  gifts,  coupled  with  their  draw- 
backs, cannot  earn  him  bread  in  London,  though 
Campbell  and  Irving  and  many  more  are  doing  all 
they  can  for  him.  Thomas  is  a  clever  man,  and  we 
had  a  much  more  pleasant  conversation  than  our  first; 
but  I  do  not  think  my  view  of  him  was  materially  altered. 
He  is  vain  and  dry  in  heart ;  the  brilliancy  of  his  mind 
(which  will  not  dazzle  you  to  death  after  all)  is  like  the 
glitter  of  an  iceberg  in  the  Greenland  seas;  parts  of  it 
are  beautiful,  but  it  is  cold,  cold,  and  you  would  rather 
136 


Carlyle  discovers  London 

look  at  it  than  touch  it.  I  partly  feel  for  Campbell: 
his  early  life  was  a  tissue  of  wretchedness  (here  in 
London  he  has  lived  upon  a  pennyworth  of  milk  and  a 
penny  roll  per  day) ;  and  at  length  his  soul  has  got 
encrusted  as  with  a  case  of  iron ;  and  he  has  betaken 
himself  to  sneering  and  selfishness  —  a  common  issue  ! 

Irving  I  see  as  frequently  and  kindly  as  ever.  His 
church  and  boy  occupy  him  much.  The  madness  of  his 
popularity  is  altogether  over ;  and  he  must  content  him- 
self with  playing  a  much  lower  game  than  he  once  an- 
ticipated ;  nevertheless  I  imagine  he  will  do  much  good 
in  London,  where  many  men  like  him  are  greatly  wanted. 
His  wife  and  he  are  always  good  to  me. 

Respecting  my  future  movements  I  can  predict  nothing 
certain  yet.  It  is  not  improbable,  I  think,  that  I  may 
see  you  all  in  Scotland  before  many  weeks  are  come  and 
gone.  Here  at  any  rate,  in  my  present  circumstances  I 
do  not  mean  to  stay :  it  is  expensive  beyond  measure 
(two  guineas  a  week  or  thereby  for  the  mere  items  of 
bed  and  board) ;  and  I  must  have  a  permanent  abode  of 
some  kind  devised  for  myself,  if  I  mean  to  do  any  good. 
Within  reach  of  Edinburgh  or  London,  it  matters  little 
which.  You  have  not  yet  determined  upon  leaving  or 
retaining  Mainhill  ?  I  think  it  is  a  pity  that  you  had  not 
some  more  kindly  spot :  at  all  events  a  better  house  I 
would  have.  Is  Mainholm  let  ?  By  clubbing  our  capitals 
together  we  might  make  something  of  it.  A  house  in 
the  country,  and  a  horse  to  ride  on,  I  must  and  will  have 
if  it  be  possible.  Tell  me  all  your  views  on  these  things 
when  you  write. 

.  .  .  Good  night !  my  dear  Alick  !  —  I  am,  ever  your 
affectionate  Brother,  T.  CARLYLE 


137 


The  Second  Post 

III 

January  8,  1825 

MY  DEAR  ALICK,  —  Your  letter  came  to  me  the 
day  before  Christmas;  it  is  time  that  it  were 
answered.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  punc- 
tuality; a  virtue  which  in  my  situation  I  am  called 
upon  to  rival  or  even  to  surpass.  I  have  no  news  for 
you;  only  harmless  chat;  but  that  and  the  assurance 
that  there  is  no  bad  news  will  repay  you  for  the  charge  of 
postage.  .  .  . 

Everything  goes  on  with  me  here  very  much  as  it 
was  doing  when  I  wrote  last.  ...  I  think  I  have  well- 
nigh  decided  on  returning  to  Scotland,  when  this  Book  is 
off  my  hands.  This  tumultuous  capital  is  not  the  place 
for  one  like  me.  The  very  expense  of  it  were  almost 
enough  to  drive  me  out  of  it:  I  cannot  live  in  the 
simplest  style  under  about  two  guineas  a  week;  a  sum 
that  would  suffice  to  keep  a  decent  roof  of  my  own  above 
me  in  my  Fatherland.  Besides  I  ought  to  settle  some- 
where, and  get  a  home  and  neighbourhood  among  my 
fellow-creatures.  Now  this  London,  to  my  mind,  is  not 
a  flattering  scene  for  such  an  enterprise.  One  hates,  for 
one  thing,  to  be  a  foreigner  anywhere ;  and  this,  after  all 
that  can  be  said  about  it,  is  the  case  with  every  Scotch- 
man in  this  city.  They  live  as  aliens  here,  unrooted  in 
the  soil ;  without  political,  religious,  or  even  much  social, 
interest  in  the  community,  distinctly  feeling  every  day 
that  with  them  it  is  money  only  that  can  "make  the  mare 
to  go."  Hence  cash !  cash !  cash !  is  the  everlasting 
cry  of  their  souls.  They  are  consequently  very  "hard 
characters" ;  they  believe  in  nothing  but  their  ledgers ; 
their  precept  is  like  that  of  lago,  "Put  money  in  your 
138 


Carlyle  discovers  London 

purse";  or  as  he  of  Burnfoot  more  emphatically  ex- 
pressed it,  "Now,  Jock  !  Get  siller,  honestly,  if  thou 
can ;  but  ony  way  get  it ! "  I  should  like  but  indifferently 
to  be  ranked  among  them  ;  for  my  sentiments  and  theirs 
are  not  at  all  germane.  The  first  improvement  they 
make  upon  themselves  in  the  South  is  to  acquire  the 
habit  of  sneering  at  their  honest  old  country ;  vending 
many  stale  jokes  about  its  poverty,  and  the  happiness  of 
travelling  with  one's  face  towards  the  sun.  This  is  a 
"damnable  heresy,"  as  honest  Allan  Cunningham  called 
it.  I  have  no  patience  with  the  leaden-hearted  dogs. 
Often  when  appealed  to  that  I  might  confirm  such 
shallow  sarcasms,  I  have  risen  in  my  wrath,  and  branded 
them  with  my  bitterest  contempt.  But  here  they  are 
staple  speculation  with  our  degenerate  compatriots. 
BULL  himself,  again,  though  a  frank,  beef-loving, 
joyous  kind  of  person,  is  excessively  stupid :  take  him 
out  of  the  sphere  of  the  five  senses,  and  he  gazes  with  a 
vacant  astonishment,  and  wondering  "what  the  devil  the 
fellow  can  mean."  This  is  comparatively  the  state  of  all 
ranks,  so  far  as  I  have  seen  them,  from  the  highest  to 
the  lowest ;  but  especially  of  the  latter.  Of  these  it  is 
unspeakably  so  !  Yesterday  I  went  to  see  Newgate, 
under  the  auspices  of  the  benevolent  Mrs.  Fry,  a 
Quaker  lady  who  every  Friday  goes  on  her  errand  of 
mercy  to  inspect  the  condition  of  the  female  prisoners. 
She,  this  good  Quakeress,  is  as  much  like  an  angel  of 
Peace  as  any  person  I  ever  saw :  she  read  a  chapter,  and 
expounded  it,  to  the  most  degraded  audience  of  the 
universe,  in  a  style  of  beautiful  simplicity  which  I  shall 
not  soon  forget.  But  oh !  the  male  felons !  the  two 
hundred  polluted  wretches,  through  whose  stalls  and 
yards  I  was  next  carried !  There  were  they  of  all 

139 


The  Second   Post 

climates  and  kinds,  the  Jew,  the  Turk,  the  "Christian"  : 
from  the  gray  villain  of  sixty  to  the  blackguard  boy  of 
eight!  Nor  was  it  their  depravity  that  struck  me,  so 
much  as  their  debasement.  Most  of  them  actually 
looked  like  animals;  you  could  see  no  traces  of  a  soul 
(not  even  of  a  bad  one)  in  their  gloating,  callous,  sensual 
countenances;  they  had  never  thought  at  all,  they  had 
only  eaten  and  drunk  and  made  merry.  I  have  seen  as 
wicked  people  in  the  north ;  but  it  was  another  and  far 
less  abominable  sort  of  wickedness.  A  Scotch  black- 
guard is  very  generally  a  thinking  reasoning  person  ;  some 
theory  and  principle  of  life,  a  satanical  philosophy,  beams 
from  every  feature  of  his  rugged  scowling  countenance. 
Not  so  here.  The  sharpness  of  these  people  was  the 
cunning  of  a  fox,  their  stubbornness  was  the  sullen 
gloom  of  a  mastiff.  Newgate  holds,  I  believe,  within  its 
walls  more  human  baseness  than  any  other  spot  in  the 
Creation. 

But  why  do  I  write  of  it  or  aught  connected  with  it, 
since  in  a  few  weeks  I  hope  to  tell  you  everything  by 
word  of  mouth?  We  are  on  the  fifteenth  sheet  of 
Schiller;  six  more  will  see  us  through  it.  The  moment 
it  is  finished,  I  purpose  to  decamp.  I  have  given  the 
creatures  four  weeks  (they  engage  for  three)  to  settle 
everything :  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  you  met  me  at 
the  Candlemas  Fair  on  the  Plainstones  of  Dumfries ! 
Soon  after  the  beginning  of  February  I  do  expect  to 
see  old,  meagre  but  true-hearted  Annandale  again.  No 
doubt,  you  will  have  the  wark-gear  afoot,  that  is,  the 
pony  in  riding  order,  and  everything  in  readiness  for  me. 
When  arrived,  my  purposes  are  various,  and  inviting 
though  unsettled.  I  have  written  to  Edinburgh  about  a 
projected  translation  of  Schiller's  Works;  Brewster  sends 
140 


Carlyle  discovers  London 

me  word  that  Blackwood  (the  Bookseller)  "has  no  doubt 
he  will  be  able  to  engage  with  me,  in  Schiller  (which, 
however,  he  does  not  seem  to  relish),  or  in  some  other 
literary  object."  Blackwood,  I  believe,  is  but  a  knave; 
and  I  put  no  faith  in  him.  Nay,  since  I  began  to  write 
this  sentence,  I  have  a  letter  from  the  scoundrel  Boyd 
"respectfully  declining"  to  engage  in  that  speculation  of 
Schiller!  So  that  I  rather  suppose  it  must  be  renounced. 
No  matter  !  There  are  plenty  more  where  it  came  from  ! 
I  am  bent  on  farming,  for  the  recovery  of  my  health ; 
nay  "marriage"  itself  is  sometimes  not  out  of  my  ulterior 
contemplations  !  But  I  will  explain  all  things  when  we 
meet. 

But  the  day  is  breaking  up  into  fair  sunshine ;  and  I 
must  out  to  take  the  benefit  of  it.  Let  me  have  a  letter 
from  you,  a  long  one,  and  a  good  one  like  the  last,  by 
the  very  earliest  opportunity.  Thank  my  kind  true 
Mother  for  her  note:  tell  her  it  will  not  be  long  till  I 
answer  all  her  queries  by  word  of  mouth.  In  the  mean- 
time, I  have  a  message  for  her,  which  I  know  will  please 
her  well,  because  it  is  to  do  something  for  me.  Badams 
prescribes  warmth  above  all  things :  he  made  me  wear 
close  stocking  (flannel  or  rather  woollen)  drawers  even  in 
summer.  My  Mother  once  offered  to  get  Peter  Little  to 
work  me  such  a  pair;  tell  her  that  now  if  she  has  any 
wool,  I  will  take  them.  If  she  has  not,  she  need  never 
mind  in  the  least :  we  can  settle  it,  —  when  —  we  meet ! 
Do  you  regularly  hear  of  Jack  ?  He  is  a  letter  in  my 
debt  for  ten  days.  But  I  hope  the  good  soul  is  well. 
Does  he  send  you  the  Examiner?  Has  he  written  you  a 
translation  of  Goethe's  letter  to  me  ?  I  was  very  glad  to 
hear  from  the  old  blade,  in  so  kind  though  so  brief  a 
141 


The  Second   Post 

fashion.     I  mean  to  send  him  a  copy  of  Schiller's  Life, 
as  soon  as  it  is  ready. 

Now,  my  dear  Boy,  I  must  take  my  flight.  I  have 
purchased  me  a  small  seal  and  the  Carlyles'  crest  with 
Humiliate  and  all  the  rest  of  it  engraven  on  it.  The 
thing  lies  at  present  in  Oxford  Street,  and  was  to  be 
ready  about  this  time  to-day.  I  am  going  thither :  if  I 
get  it,  I  will  seal  this  letter  with  it,  for  your  edification. 
Write  directly,  and  tell  me  all ;  the  progress  of  the 
Gheen  and  everything  notable,  in  and  about  Mainhill. 
The  smallest  incident  from  that  quarter  recorded  in  your 
pithy  style  is  valuable  to  me. 

Irving  and  I  are  as  friendly  as  ever.  He  is  toiling  in 
the  midst  of  many  difficulties  and  tasks,  internal  and 
external,  domestic  and  ecclesiastic.  I  wish  him  well 
through  them  !  He  is  the  best  man  I  have  met  in 
England.  But  here,  as  I  told  him  lately,  he  has  no 
home ;  he  is  a  "missionary"  rather  than  a  pastor.  —  My 
Father  has  never  written  to  me :  I  should  like  much  to 
see  his  hand  in  London.  Give  my  warmest  love  to  him 
and  Mother,  and  all  the  brethren  and  sisters,  beginning 
with  Mag  and  ending  with  Jenny.  Write  soon,  good 
Alick  !  —  I  am,  ever  your  true  brother, 

T.  CARLYLE 


142 


XII 

PARTICULAR  WIFE  TO  PARTICULAR 
HUSBAND 

(With  Thomas  Carlyle's  Notes) 

I 
Jane  Welsh  to  Thomas  Carlyle  *^y        o        "^y 

October  12,  1835 

T^VEAREST,  —  A  newspaper  is  very  pleasant  when  one 
J-^  is  expecting  nothing  at  all;  but  when  it  comes  in 
place  of  a  letter  it  is  a  positive  insult  to  one's  feelings. 
Accordingly  your  first  newspaper  was  received  by  me 
in  choicest  mood ;  and  the  second  would  have  been 
pitched  in  the  fire,  had  there  been  one  at  hand,  when, 
after  having  tumbled  myself  from  top  story  at  the  risk  of 
my  neck,  I  found  myself  deluded  with  "wun  penny  'm." 
However,  I  flatter  myself  you  would  experience  some- 
thing of  a  similar  disappointment  on  receiving  mine ;  and 
so  we  are  quits,  and  I  need  not  scold  you.  I  have  not 
been  a  day  in  bed  since  you  went  —  have  indeed  been 
almost  free  of  headache,  and  all  other  aches ;  and  every- 
body says  Mrs.  Carlyle  begins  to  look  better  —  and  what 
everybody  says  must  be  true.  With  this  improved 
health  everything  becomes  tolerable,  even  to  the  pee- 
sweep  Sereetha  (for  we  are  still  without  other  help). 
Now  that  I  do  not  see  you  driven  desperate  with  the 


The  Second   Post 

chaos,  I  can  take  a  quiet  view  of  it,  and  even  reduce  it 
to  some  degree  of  order.  Mother  and  I  have  fallen 
naturally  into  a  fair  division  of  labour,  and  we  keep  a 
very  tidy  house.  Sereetha  has  attained  the  unhoped-for 
perfection  of  getting  up  at  half  after  six  of  her  own 
accord,  lighting  the  parlour-fire,  and  actually  placing  the 
breakfast  things  nil  desperandum  me  duce!  I  get  up 
half  after  seven,  and  prepare  the  coffee,  and  bacon-ham 
(which  is  the  life  of  me,  making  me  always  hungrier  the 
more  I  eat  of  it).  Mother,  in  the  interim,  makes  her  bed, 
and  sorts  her  room.  After  breakfast,  mother  descends  to 
the  inferno,  where  she  jingles  and  scours,  and  from  time 
to  time  scolds  Sereetha  till  all  is  right  and  tight  there. 
I,  above  stairs,  sweep  the  parlour,  blacken  the  grate  — 
make  the  room  look  cleaner  than  it  has  been  since  the 
days  of  Grace  Macdonald  1 ;  then  mount  aloft  to  make 
my  own  bed  (for  I  was  resolved  to  enjoy  the  privilege  of 
having  a  bed  of  my  own) ;  then  clean  myself  (as  the 
servants  say),  and  sit  down  to  the  Italian  lesson.  A  bit 
of  meat  roasted  at  the  oven  suffices  two  days  cold,  and 
does  not  plague  us  with  cookery.  Sereetha  can  fetch 
up  tea-things,  and  the  porridge  is  easily  made  on  the 
parlour-fire ;  the  kitchen  one  being  allowed  to  go  out 
(for  economy),  when  the  Peesweep  retires  to  bed  at 
eight  o'clock. 

That  we  are  not  neglected  by  the  public,  you  may 
infer  from  the  fact  that,  this  very  night,  Peesweep  fetched 
up  four  tea-cups  on  the  tray ;  and  when  I  asked  the 
meaning  of  the  two  additional,  she  inquired,  with  sur- 
prise, "Were  there  to  be  no  gentlemen  ?"  "In  fact,  the 
kindness  of  these  people"  "beats  the  world."  I  had  some 

1  The  Edinburgh  servant  we  brought  with  us  to  Craigenputtock ; 
the  skilfullest  we  ever  had  anywhere. 

144 


Particular  Wife  to   Particular   Husband 

private  misgiving  that  your  men  would  not  mind  me 
when  you  were  not  here,  and  I  should  have  been  mortified 
in  that  case,  though  I  could  not  have  blamed  them.  But 
it  is  quite  the  reverse.  Little  Grant l  has  been  twice  to 
know  if  he  could  "do  anything  for  me."  Gamier  has 
been  twice  !  The  first  time  by  engagement  to  you ;  the 
second  time  to  meet  Pepoli,  whom  he  knew  in  Paris,  and 
wished  to  re-know,  and  who  proved  perfido  on  the 
occasion.  Pepoli  has  been  twice,  and  is  gliding  into  a 
flirtation  with  —  mia  madre!  who  presented  him,  in  a 
manner  molto  graziosa,  with  her  tartan  scarf.  From 
John  Mill  I  have  been  privileged  with  two  notes,  and  one 
visit.  He  evidently  tried  to  yawn  as  little  as  possible, 
and  stayed  till  the  usual  hour,  lest,  I  suppose,  he  should 
seem  to  have  missed  your  conversation.  John  Sterling 
and  the  Stimabile,2  of  course.  The  latter  was  at  tea  last 
night  to  meet  Mr.  Gibson 3  —  one  of  my  fatal  attempts  at 
producing  a  reunion,  for  they  coincided  in  nothing  but 
years.  The  Stimabile  was  at  Brighton  for  several  days, 
and  goes  again  next  week,  so  that  he  has  not  been  too 
deadly  frequent. 

Our  visiting  has  been  confined  to  one  dinner  and  two 
teas  at  the  Sterling's,  and  a  tea  at  Hunt's !  You  must 

know, came  the  day  after  you  went,  and  stayed  two 

days.     As  she  desired  above  all  things  to  see  Hunt,  I 

1  Official  in  the  India  House,  a  friend  and  admirer  of  John  Mill's. 

J  A  title  we  had  for  John's  father.  Signora  degli  Antoni,  the 
Italian  instructress  in  these  months,  setting  her  pupil  an  epistolary 
pattern,  had  thrown  off  one  day  a  billet  as  if  addressed  to  Edward 
Sterling,  which  began  with  Stimabile  Signor. 

3  Was  a  massive,  easy,  friendly,  dull  person,  physically  one  of 
the  best  washed  I  ever  saw;  American  merchant,  "who  had 
made,  and  again  lost,  three  fortunes";  originally  a  Nithsdale 
pedlar  boy,  "Black  Wull,"  by  title;  "Silver-headed  Packman," 
he  was  often  called  here. 

L  145 


The  Second   Post 

wrote  him  a  note  asking  him  if  I  might  bring  her  up  to 
call.  He  replied  he  was  just  setting  off  to  town,  but 
would  look  in  at  eight  o'clock.  I  supposed  this,  as  usual, 
a  mere  put-off;  but  he  actually  came  and  found  Pepoli 

as  well   as  Miss  ,   was  amazingly  lively,  and  very 

lasting,  for  he  stayed  till  near  twelve.  Between  our- 
selves, it  gave  me  a  poorish  opinion  of  him,  to  see  how 
uplifted  to  the  third  heaven  he  seemed  by  —  — 's  compli- 
ments and  sympathising  talk.  He  asked  us  all,  with 

enthusiasm,  to  tea  the  following  Monday. came  on 

purpose  and  slept  here.     He  sang,  talked  like  a  pea-gun l 

ever  to ,  who  drank  it  all  in  like  nectar,  while  my 

mother  looked  cross  enough,  and  I  had  to  listen  to 
the  whispered  confidences  of  Mrs.  Hunt.  But  for  me, 
who  was  declared  to  be  grown  "quite  prim  and 
elderly,"  I  believe  they  would  have  communicated  their 
mutual  experiences  in  a  retired  window-seat  till  morning. 

"God  bless  you,  Miss ,"  was  repeated  by  Hunt  three 

several  times  in  tones  of  ever-increasing  pathos  and 
tenderness  as  he  handed  her  downstairs  behind  me. 

,  for  once  in  her  life,  seemed  past  speech.    At  the 

bottom  of  the  stairs  a  demur  took  place.  I  saw  nothing ; 
but  I  heard,  with  my  wonted  glegness  —  what  think  you  ? 
—  a  couple  of  handsome  smacks  !  and  then  an  almost 

inaudibly  soft  "  God  bless  you,  Miss ! " 

Now  just  remember  what  sort  of  looking  woman  is 

;  and  figure  their  transaction  !     If  he  had  kissed  me. 

it  would  have  been  intelligible,  but ,  of  all  people ! 

By  the  way,  Mr.  Craik  2  is  immensely  delighted  with  you, 
and  grateful  to  Susan  for  having  brought  you  together. 

1  Sconce,     gun    made    of    grill-barrel   for   shooting    peas    (and 
"cracking,"  which  also  means  pleasantly  conversing). 

2  Useful  Knowledge  Craik,  poor  fellow  ! 

146 


Particular  Wife  to  Particular  Husband 

Mrs.  Cole  l  came  the  other  day,  and  sat  an  hour  waiting 
for  me  while  I  was  out,  and  finally  had  to  go,  leaving  an 
obliging  note  offering  me  every  assistance  in  procuring 
a  servant. 

Mrs.  John  Sterling  takes  to  me  wonderfully ;  but  Jchn, 
I  perceive,  will  spoil  all  with  his  innocence.  He  told  her 
the  other  day,  when  she  was  declaring  her  wish  that  he 
would  write  on  Theology  rather  than  make  verses,  that 
she  "might  fight  out  that  matter  with  Mrs.  Carlyle,  who, 
he  knew,  was  always  on  the  side  of  the  poetical."  He 
(Sterling)  has  written  a  positively  splendid  poem  of  half- 
an-hour's  length  —  an  allegorical  shadowing  of  the  union 
of  the  ideal  and  actual.  It  is  far  the  best  thing  he  ever 
did  —  far  beyond  anything  I  could  have  supposed  him 
capable  of.  He  said,  when  he  was  writing  it,  he  thought 
sometimes,  "Carlyle  will  be  pleased  with  that." 

To  descend  to  the  practical,  or,  I  should  rather  say 
ascend,  for  I  have  filled  my  whole  paper  with  mere 
gossip.  I  think  you  seem,  so  far  as  human  calculations 
avail,  to  have  made  a  good  hit  as  to  the  servant; 
character  is  not  worth  a  straw ;  but,  you  say  she  looks 
intelligent  and  good-humoured,  is  young  and  willing.2 
Fetch  her,  then,  in  God's  name,  and  I  will  make  the  best 
I  can  of  her.  After  all,  we  fret  ourselves  too  much 
about  little  things;  much  that  might  be  laughed  off,  if 
one  were  well  and  cheerful  as  one  ought  to  be,  becomes 
a  grave  affliction  from  being  too  gravely  looked  at. 
Remember  also  meal,  and  oh,  for  goodness  sake, 
procure  a  dozen  of  bacon-hams  !  There  is  no  bottom  to 
my  appetite  for  them.  Sell  poor  Harry,  by  all  means, 

'The  now  thrice-notable  "Crystal  Palace,"  "Brompton  Boilers," 
etc.,  etc.,  Henry  Cole's  wife. 

2  Anne  Cook  (got  for  me  by  sister  Mary,  at  Annan). 

147 


The  Second   Post 

or  shoot  him.  We  are  too  poor  to  indulge  our  fine 
feelings  with  keeping  such  large  pets  (especially  at 
other  people's  expense).  What  a  pity  no  frank  is  to  be 
got !  I  have  told  you  nothing  yet.  No  word  ever  came 
from  Basil  Montagu.  I  have  translated  four  songs 
into  Italian  —  written  a  long  excessively  spirituosa  letter 
to  "mia  adorabile  Clementina," 1  and  many  graziose 
cartucie  besides.  In  truth,  I  have  a  divine  ingegno  ! 

You  will  come  back  strong  and  cheerful,  will  you  not  ? 
I  wish  you  were  come,  anyhow.  Don't  take  much  castor ; 
eat  plenty  of  chicken  broth  rather.  Dispense  my  love 
largely.  Mother  returns  your  kiss  with  interest.  We  go 
on  tolerably  enough ;  but  she  has  vowed  to  hate  all  my 
people  except  Pepoli.  So  that  there  is  ever  a  "  dark  brown 
shadd  "  in  all  my  little  reunions.  She  has  given  me  a  glo- 
rious black-velvet  gown,  realising  my  beau  ideal  of  Putz. 

Did  you  take  away  my  folding  penknife  ?  We  are 
knifeless  here.  We  were  to  have  gone  to  Richmond 
to-day  with  the  Silverheaded ;  but,  to  my  great  relief,  it 
turned  out  that  the  steamboat  is  not  running. 

God  keep  you,  my  own  dear  husband,  and  bring  you 
safe  back  to  me.  The  house  looks  very  empty  without 
you,  and  my  mind  feels  empty  too.  — 

Your  JANE 

II 

August  23,  1842 

MY  DEAR  HUSBAND,  —  The  pen  was  in  my  hand 
to  write  yesterday ;   but  nothing  would  have  come 
out  of  me  yesterday  except  "literature  of  desperation" ; 2 

1  Degli  Antoni. 

2  Literature  der   Verzweiflung  was  Goethe's  definition  of  Victor 
Hugo  and  Co.'s  new  gospel. 

148 


Particular  Wife  to  Particular  Husband 

and,  aware  of  this,  I  thought  it  better  to  hold  my  peace 
for  the  next  twenty-four  hours,  till  a  new  night  had  either 
habilitated  me  for  remaining  awhile  longer,  or  brought 
me  to  the  desperate  resolution  of  flying  home  for  my 
life.  Last  night,  Heaven  be  thanked,  went  off  peaceably ; 
and  to-day  I  am  in  a  state  to  record  my  last  trial, 
without  danger  of  becoming  too  tragical,  or  alarming  you 
with  the  prospect  of  my  making  an  unseemly  termination 
of  my  visit.  (Oh,  what  pens  !) 

To  begin  where  I  left  off.  On  Sunday,  after  writing  to 
you,  I  attended  the  afternoon  service !  Regy  looked  so 
•wae  when  I  answered  his  question  "  whether  I  was  going  ?  " 
in  the  negative,  that  a  weak  pity  induced  me  to  revise 
my  determination.  "It  is  a  nice  pew,  that  of  ours,"  said 
old  Mr.  Buller;  "it  suits  me  remarkably  well,  for  being 
so  deep  I  am  not  overlooked ;  and  in  virtue  of  that,  I 
read  most  part  of  the  Femme  de  Qualite  this  morning!" 
"But  don't,"  he  added,  "tell  Mr.  Regy  this!  Had 
Theresa  been  there,  I  would  not  have  done  it,  for  I  like 
to  set  a  good  example  !"  I  also  turned  the  depth  of  the 
pew  to  good  account ;  when  the  sermon  began,  I  made 
myself,  at  the  bottom  of  it,  a  sort  of  Persian  couch  out  of 
the  praying-cushions ;  laid  off  my  bonnet,  and  stretched 
myself  out  very  much  at  my  ease.  I  seemed  to  have 
been  thus  just  one  drowsy  minute  when  a  slight  rustling, 
and  the  words  "Now  to  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost," 
warned  me  to  put  on  my  bonnet,  and  made  me  for 
the  first  time  aware  that  I  had  been  asleep !  For 
the  rest,  the  music  that  day  ought  to  have  satisfied  me ; 
for  it  seemed  to  have  remodelled  itself  expressly  to  suit 
my  taste  —  Scotch  tunes,  produced  with  the  nasal  dis- 
cordant emphasis  of  a  Scotch  country-congregation,  and 
no  clarinet.  I  noticed  in  a  little  square  gallery-seat,  the 
149 


The  Second   Post 

only  one  in  the  church,  a  portly  character,  who  acts  as 
blacksmith,  sitting  with  a  wand,  some  five  feet  long,  in 
his  hand,  which  he  swayed  about  majestically  as  if  it  had 
been  a  sceptre  !  On  inquiring  of  our  man-servant  what 
this  could  possibly  mean  or  symbolise,  he  informed  me 
it  was  "  to  beat  bad  children."  "And  are  the  children  here 
so  bad  they  need  such  a  functionary?"  "Ah,  they  will 
always,  them  little  'uns,  be  doing  mischief  in  the  church : 
it's  a-wearisome  for  the  poor  things,  and  the  rod  keeps 
them  in  fear  ! " 

In  the  evening,  the  drive,  as  always,  with  this  only 
difference,  that  on  Sunday  evenings,  Mr.  Buller  only 
walks  the  horse,  from  principle  !  After  this  conscientious 
exercising,  the  game  at  chess !  My  head  had  ached 
more  or  less  all  day,  and  I  was  glad  to  get  to  bed,  where 
I  was  fortunate  enough  to  get  to  sleep  without  any  violent 
disturbance.  The  next  day,  however,  my  head  was 
rather  worse  than  better;  so  that  I  would  fain  have 
"declined  from  " l  calling  on  Lady  Agnes ;  but  Mrs.  Buller 
was  bent  on  going  to  Livermere,  and  so,  as  I  did  not 
feel  up  to  walking,  it  was  my  only  chance  of  getting  any 
fresh  air  and  exercise  that  day.  To  Livermere  we  went 
then,  before  dinner,  the  dinner  being  deferred  till  five 
o'clock  to  suit  the  more  fashionable  hours  of  our  visitees. 
"The  Pagets"  seem  to  be  extremely  like  other  mortals, 
neither  better  nor  bonnier  nor  wiser.  To  do  them 
justice,  however,  they  might,  as  we  found  them,  have 
been  sitting  for  a  picture  of  high  life  doing  the  amiable 
and  the  rural  in  the  country.  They  had  placed  a  table 
under  the  shadow  of  a  beech-tree;  and  at  this  sat  Mr. 
Byng  studying  the  "Examiner"  ;  Lady  Agnes  reading  — 

1  The  phrase  of  a  rustic  cousin  of  ours,  kind  of  a  solemn  pedant 
in  his  way. 


Particular  Wife  to  Particular  Husband 

"Oh,  nothing  at  all,  only  some  nonsense  that  Lord 
Londonderry  has  been  printing ;  I  cannot  think  what  has 
tempted  him  ; "  and  a  boy  and  girl  marking  for  a  cricket- 
party,  consisting  of  all  the  men-servants,  and  two  older 
little  sons,  who  were  playing  for  the  entertainment  of 
their  master  and  mistress  and  their  own ;  the  younger 
branches  ever  and  anon  clapping  their  hands,  and 
calling  out  "What  fun !"  I  may  mention  for  your  con- 
solation that  Mr.  Byng  (a  tall,  gentlemanly,  blase-looking 
man)  was  dressed  from  head  to  foot  in  unbleached 
linen ;  while  Babbie  may  take  a  slight  satisfaction  to  her 
curiosity  de  femme  from  knowing  how  a  Paget  attires 
herself  of  a  morning,  to  sit  under  a  beech-tree  —  a  white- 
flowered  muslin  pelisse,  over  pale  blue  satin ;  a  black 
lace  scarf  fastened  against  her  heart  with  a  little  gold 
horse-shoe;  her  white  neck  tolerably  revealed,  and  set 
off  with  a  brooch  of  diamonds ;  immense  gold  bracelets 
and  immense  gold  chain ;  a  little  white  silk  bonnet  with  a 
profusion  of  blond  and  flowers ;  thus  had  she  prepared 
herself  for  being  rural.  But,  with  all  this  finery,  she 
looked  a  good-hearted,  rattling,  clever  haveral l  sort  of  a 
woman.  Her  account  of  Lord  Londonderry's  sentimental 
dedication  to  his  wife  was  perfect  —  "from  a  goose  to  a 
goose!"  —  and  she  defended  herself  with  her  pocket 
handkerchief  against  the  wasps,  with  an  energy.  When 
we  had  sat  sufficiently  long  under  the  tree,  Mrs.  Buller 
asked  her  to  take  me  through  the  gardens,  which  she  did 
very  politely,  and  gave  me  some  carnations  and  verbenas ; 
and  then  through  the  stables,  which  were,  indeed,  the 
finer  sight  of  the  two. 

1  Good-humoured  foolish  person.  I  should  not  wonder  if  it 
came  from  Avril  (which  in  old  Scotch  is  corrupted  into  Averil, 
and  even  Haver  Hill),  and  had  originally  meant  "April  fool." 


All  this  sight-seeing,  however,  did  not  help  my  head; 
at  night  I  let  the  chess  go  as  it  liked;  took  some 
medicine,  and  went  early  to  bed,  determined  to  be  well 
on  the  morrow.  About  twelve,  I  fell  into  a  sound  sleep, 
out  of  which  I  was  startled  by  the  tolling  of  the  church- 
bell.  The  church,  you  remember,  is  only  a  stone-cast 
from  the  house ;  so  that,  when  the  bell  tolls,  one  seems  to 
be  exactly  under  its  tongue.  I  sprang  up  —  it  was  half 
after  three  by  my  watch  —  hardly  light ;  the  bell  went  on 
to  toll  two  loud  dismal  strokes  at  regular  intervals  of  a 
minute.  What  could  it  be  ?  I  fancied  fire  —  fancied 
insurrection.  I  ran  out  into  the  passage  and  listened  at 
Regy's  door,  all  was  still ;  then  I  listened  at  Mrs.  Buller's, 
I  heard  her  cough ;  surely,  I  thought,  since  she  is  awake, 
she  would  ring  her  bell  if  there  were  anything  alarming 
for  her  in  this  tolling,  it  must  be  some  other  noise  of  the 
many  they  "have  grown  used  to."  So  I  went  to  bed 
again,  but,  of  course,  could  not  get  another  wink  of  sleep 
all  night;  for  the  bell  only  ceased  tolling  at  my  ear 
about  six  in  the  morning,  and  then  I  was  too  nervous  to 
avail  myself  of  the  silence.  "What  on  earth  was  the 
bell?"  I  asked  Regy  the  first  thing  in  the  morning. 
"Oh,  that  was  only  the  passing-bell !  It  was  ordered  to 
be  rung  during  the  night  for  an  old  lady  who  died  the 
night  before."  This  time,  however,  I  had  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  Mrs.  Buller  as  angry  as  myself;  for  she  also 
had  been  much  alarmed. 

Of  course,  yesterday  I  was  quite  ill,  with  the  medicine, 
the  sleeplessness,  and  the  fright ;  and  I  thought  I  really 
could  not  stay  any  longer  in  a  place  where  one  is  liable 
to  such  alarms.  But  now,  as  usual,  one  quiet  night  has 
given  me  hopes  of  more;  and  it  would  be  a  pity  to 
return  worse  than  I  went  away.  I  do  not  seem  to  myself 
152 


Particular  Wife  to  Particular  Husband 

to  be  nearly  done ;  but  Mr.  Buller  is  sitting  at  my  elbow 
with  the  chess-board,  saying,  "When  you  are  ready  I  am 
ready."  I  am  ready.  Love  to  Babbie;  I  have  your  and 
her  letter ;  but  must  stop. 

Ill 

September  13,  1844 

T^EAREST,  —  I  have  absolutely  no  composure  of  soul 
•'--'  for  writing  just  now.  The  fact  is,  I  have  under- 
taken far  more  this  time  than  human  discretion  would 
have  dreamt  of  putting  into  one  week ;  knowing  your 
horror  of  sweeps  and  carpet-beaters  and  "all  that  sort 
of  thing,"  I  would,  in  my  romantic  self-devotion,  sweep 
all  the  chimneys  and  lift  all  the  carpets  before  you  came ; 
and  had  you  arrived  this  day,  as  you  first  proposed,  you 
would  have  found  me  still  in  a  regular  mess,  threatening 
to  thicken  into  "immortal  smash."  But  by  Thursday 
I  hope  to  have  "got  everything  satisfactorily  arranged," 
as  poor  Plattnauer  is  always  saying. 

And  there  have  been  so  many  other  things  to  take  me 
up,  besides  the  sweeps,  etc.  Almost  every  evening 
somebody  has  been  here.  The  evening  of  the  Bullers' 
departure  Jenkin's  Hen  l  came,  pale  as  a  candle,  with  a 
red  circle  round  each  eye  which  was  very  touching ;  —  he 
had  evidently  been  crying  himself  quite  sick  and  sore. 
Lady  Lewis 2  had  invited  him  to  dine  with  her ;  but,  "he 
could  not  go  there,  he  could  not  eat  any  dinner,  he  was 
afraid  to  go  home  to  his  own  silent  house  —  he  thought 
I  could  understand  his  feelings,  and  so  had  come  to  pass 
the  evening  with  me."  What  a  gift  of  understanding 

'Fleming.     To  "die  the  death  of  Jenkin's  hen"  expressed,  in 
Annandale,  the  maximum  of  pusillanimity. 
2  The  late  C.  Buller's  aunt. 

153 


The  Second   Post 

other  people's  feelings  I  am  supposed  to  have  —  moi ! 
Oh,  my  dear,  the  cat  produced  two  kittens  in  your  bed 
this  morning,  and  we  have  drowned  them  —  and  now  she 
also  thinks  I  can  understand  her  feelings,  and  is  coming 
about  my  feet  mewing  in  a  way  that  quite  wrings  my  heart. 
Poor  thing !  I  never  saw  her  take  on  so  badly  before. 

Well !  but  on  Saturday  night  Helen  had  just  gone 
to  seek  sugar  for  the  tea  when  a  rap  came,  which  I 
preferred  answering  myself  to  allowing  Plattnauer  to 
answer  it,  and  —  oh  Heavens  !  —  what  should  I  see  in  the 
dark  opening  ?  A  little  human  phenomenon,  in  a  triple- 
cornered  hat !  Bishop  ******  again !  I  screamed,  a 
good,  genuine,  horrified  scream  !  Whereupon  he  stept  in 
—  and,  as  the  devil  would  have  it  —  on  my  bad  toe  !  and 
then  I  uttered  a  series  of  screams  which  made  Plattnauer 
savage  with  him  for  the  rest  of  the  evening.  He  had 
come  up  to  seek  himself  a  new  assistant,  the  old  one 
being  promoted.  There  is  no  end  to  his  calls  to  London  ! 
But  he  "was  plainly  mortally  afraid  of  Plattnauer,  who 
as  good  as  told  him  he  was  "one  of  the  windbags,"  and 
will  not  trouble  us  again  I  think  while  he  is  here. 

Yesterday  afternoon  came  Henry  Taylor,  but  only 
for  a  few  minutes;  he  had  been  unexpectedly  "turned 
adrift  on  our  shores,"  and  could  only  wait  till  a  Wands- 
worth  steamer  should  come  up.  I  was  very  kind  to 
him  and  he  looked  as  if  he  could  have  kissed  me  for 
being  glad  to  see  him  —  oh,  how  odd !  I  put  on  my 
bonnet  and  went  with  him  to  the  boat;  and  he  compli- 
mented me  on  going  out  without  gloves  or  shawl.  I  was 
the  first  woman  he  had  ever  found  in  this  world  who 
could  go  out  of  her  house  ^without  at  least  a  quarter  of 
an  hour's  preparation !  They  have  taken  a  house  at 
Mortlake,  near  Richmond. 

154 


Particular  Wife  to   Particular  Husband 

But  there  is  no  possibility  of  telling  you  all  the  things  I 
have  to  tell  at  this  writing.  They  will  keep  till  you  come. 
Only  let  me  not  forget  to  say  there  is  an  American  letter 
come  for  John,  which  I  send  on  by  this  day's  post. 

Your  letter,  written  apparently  on  Saturday,  was  not 
read  by  me  till  yesterday  afternoon ;  the  postman  came 
so  long  after  twelve  when  I  had  been  under  the  imperative 
necessity  to  go  out.  Give  my  love  to  Mr.  Baring.  —  Ever 
your  distracted  GOODY 

IV 

July  23,  1845 

DEAREST,  —  It  is  all  as  well  as  could  be  expected. 
I  arrived  without  accident,  not  even  much  tired, 
an  hour  and  a  half  before  I  was  looked  for  —  in  fact 
between  five  and  six.  Consequently  there  was  nobody 
to  meet  me,  and  I  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  myself 
a  car,  and  at  the  same  time  keeping  watch  over  my  trunk 
and  dressing-box ;  the  former  indeed  was  getting  itself 
coolly  borne  away  by  a  porter  amongst  some  other 
people's  luggage,  when  I  laid  my  hand  on  it,  and 
indicated :  Thus  far  shalt  thou  go  but  no  farther.  My 
uncle  I  met  tumbling  downstairs,  with  what  speed  he 
might,  prepared  for  being  kissed  to  death;  then  came 
Maggie ;  and  lastly  Babbie,  flushed  and  embarrassed, 
and  unsatisfactory  looking ;  for,  alas !  she  had  been 
all  day  preserving  strawberries,  and  had  not  expected 
me  so  soon,  and  was  not  dressed :  to  be  an  unwise 
virgin,  taken  with  one's  lamp  untrimmed,  means  here 
to  be  caught  in  deshabille.  A  —  —  I  have  not  seen  yet  — 
tant  mieux,  for  I  don't  like  him  "the  least  in  the  world." 
Johnnie  has  sunk  away  into  "an  unintelligible  whinner."  1 
1  Some  fool's  speech  to  me,  I  forget  whose. 
155 


On  the  whole  there  is  little  "food  for  the  young 
soul,  Mr.  Carlyle ! "  But  she  (as  Mazzini  insists  on 
calling  the  soul,  and  I  think  with  reason ;  making 
the  soul  into  an  it  being  —  what  shall  I  say  ?  —  a 
desecration,  upon  my  honour) — "she"  can  do  with- 
out visible  food,  like  my  leech,  for  all  the  while  "  she  " 
is  to  abide  in  the  place.  And  "one  has  always  one's 
natural  affections  left."  And  then  "to  give  pleasure  to 
others!"  The  compensation  that  lies  in  that  under  all 
circumstances  !  Ah ! 

I  am  established  in  Mary's  little  room  (off  my  uncle's) 
which  they  have  made  as  tidy  as  possible  for  me.  There 
is  a  tradition  of  "a  little  wee  wine  that  lived  in  a  shoe"  ; 
but  I  am  still  more  curiously  lodged,  for  this  room  is 
for  all  the  world  like  a  boot,  the  bed  occupying  the  heel 
of  it,  a  little  bed  like  a  coffin. 

In  so  new  a  predicament,  of  course  I  could  not  sleep ; 
the  best  I  made  of  it  was  a  doze  from  time  to  time  of  a 
few  minutes'  duration,  from  which  I  started  up  with  a 
sensation  of  horror,  like  what  must  have  been  felt  by  the 
victim  of  the  Iron  Shroud.  For  the  rest,  there  was  a 
cat  opera,  in  which  the  prima  donna  had  an  organ  that 
"bet  the  worl";1  then  there  are  some  half-dozen  of 
stout-lunged  cocks,  and  a  dog  that  lyrically  recognises 
every  passing  event.  Perhaps,  like  the  pigs,  I  shall  get 
used  to  it ;  if  not  I  must  just  go  all  the  sooner  to  Seaforth 
where  there  is  at  least  a  certain  quiet. 

My  coachful  of  men  turned  out  admirably,  as  silent 

as  could  be  wished,  yet  not  deficient  in  the  courtesies 

of  life.     The  old  gentleman  with  moustachios  and  a  red 

face  was  Colonel  Cleveland,  of  the  Artillery,   "much 

distinguished   in    the   wars."     There   was   another   old 

1  Annandale  for  "beat  the  world." 

156 


Particular  Wife  to  Particular  Husband 

gentleman  still  more  miraculous  than  Rio ; l  for  he  had 
one  eye  boiled,  the  other  parboiled,  no  leg,  and  his  mind 
boiled  to  jelly,  and  yet  he  got  to  Liverpool  just  as  well 
as"  the  rest  of  us.  The  little  man  opposite  me,  who  was 
absorbed  in  Eugene  Sue's  female  Bluebeard,  was  a 
German,  and,  pleased  to  see  me  reading  his  language, 
he  gave  me  his  pea-jacket  to  wrap  my  legs  in,  for  we 
were  all  perished  with  cold.  The  English  dandy  with 
the  heaven-blue  waistcoat  slept  the  whole  way,  exactly 
in  the  attitude  of  "James"  waiting  for  the  Sylphide  to 
come  and  kiss  him ;  but  he  might  sleep  long  enough, 
I  fancy,  before  any  "bit  of  fascination"  would  take  the 
trouble. 

And  now  you  must  "excuse  us  the  day."  After 
such  a  night,  I  can  neither  "make  wits,"2  nor,  what 
were  more  to  the  purpose,  senses,  for  your  gratifica- 
tion. I  shall  go  and  walk,  and  look  at  the  Great  Britain 
packet ;  if  one  does  not  enlighten  one's  mind  in  the 
shipping  department  here,  I  see  not  how  else  one  shall 
enlighten  it. 

Babbie  has  just  knocked  to  beg  I  would  give  her  love 
to  you,  and  most  sincere  thanks  for  the  Book,3  the  preface 
of  which  I  read  aloud  to  my  uncle  at  breakfast ;  and  he 
pronounced  it  "very  satirical"  —  a  true  speak  ! 

God  bless  you,  dear.  I  do  not  wish  you  to  feel  lonely, 
nor  will  you ;  and  yet  I  should  not  precisely  like  if  you 
missed  me  none  at  all.  —  Your  distracted 

JANEKIN 

1  Rio,  a  wandering,  rather  loud  and  headlong,  but  innocent- 
hearted,  French  friend,  Neo-Catholic,  etc.,  I  believe  is  still  living 
in  Paris ;  a  stranger  here  for  twenty-five  years  now. 

z  Bolte's  phrase  for  the  sad  operation  of  being  with  effort 
"witty." 

*  "Book,"  I  suppose,  will  be  Life  of  Schiller,  2nd  edition. 

157 


The  Second   Post 


V 

August  1 6,  1845 

T^\EAREST,  —  I  never  know  whether  a  letter  is 
*--*  welcomer  when  it  arrives  after  having  been  im- 
patiently waited  for,  or  like  yesterday's,  "quite  promiscu- 
ously," when  I  was  standing  on  the  broad  basis  of 
"Blessed  are  they  who  do  not  hope,  for  they  shall  not 
be  disappointed!"  I  assure  you  I  am  not  the  only 
person  obliged  by  your  writing ;  it  makes  a  very  palpable 
difference  in  my  amiability  throughout  the  day  whether 
I  have  a  letter  to  begin  it  with. 

Last  night  we  went,  according  to  programme,  to  Mrs. 

A 's  and  "it's  but  fair  to  state"  that  the  drive  there 

and  back  in  the  moonlight  was  the  best  of  it.  The  party 
did  me  no  ill,  however  ;  it  was  not  a  Unitarian  crush  like 
the  last,  but  adapted  to  the  size  of  the  room :  select,  more- 
over, and  with  the  crowning  grace  of  an  open  window. 
There  was  an  old  gentleman  who  did  the  impossible  to 
inspire  me  with  a  certain  respect:  Y—  -  they  called 
him,  and  his  glory  consists  in  owning  the  Prince's  Park, 
and  throwing  it  open  to  "poors."  Oh, -what  a  dreadful 
little  old  man  !  He  plied  me  with  questions,  and  sugges- 
tions about  you,  till  I  was  within  a  trifle  of  "putting  my 
finger  in  the  pipy  o'  im."  l  "How  did  Mr.  Carlyle  treat 
Oliver  Cromwell's  crimes?"  "His  what?"  said  I. 
"The  atrocities  he  exercised  on  the  Irish."  "Oh, you 
mean  massacring  a  garrison  or  two  ?  All  that  is  treated 
very  briefly."  "But  Mr.  Carlyle  must  feel  a  just  horror 
of  it."  "Horror?  Oh,  none  at  all,  I  assure  you!  He 
regards  it  as  the  only  means  under  the  circumstances  to 

1  Crying  baby  unappeasable.     "Put  your  finger  in  ta  pipie  o't" 
(little  windpipe,)  said  some  Highland  body. 

158 


Particular  Wife  to  Particular  Husband 

save  blood-shed."  The  little  old  gentleman  bounced 
back  in  his  chair,  and  spread  out  his  two  hands,  like  a 
duck  about  to  swim,  while  there  burst  from  his  lips  a 
groan  that  made  everyone  look  at  us.  What  had  I  said 

to    their    Mr.  Y ?    By-and-by  the  old  gentleman 

returned  to  the  charge.  "Mr.  Carlyle  must  be  feeling 
much  delighted  about  the  Academical  Schools?"  "Oh 
no,  he  has  been  so  absorbed  in  his  own  work  lately  that 
he  has  not  been  at  leisure  to  be  delighted  about  any- 
thing." "But,  madam!  a  man  may  attend  to  his  own 
work,  and  attend  at  the  same  time  to  questions  of  great 
public  interest."  "Do  you  think  so?  I  don't."  An- 
other bounce  on  the  chair.  Then,  with  a  sort  of  awe,  as  of 
a  "demon  more  wicked  than  your  wife  "  1  "Do  you  not 
think,  madam,  that  more  good  might  be  done  by  taking 
up  the  history  of  the  actual  time  than  of  past  ages? 
Such  a  time  as  this,  so  full  of  improvements  in  arts  and 
sciences,  the  whole  face  of  purope  getting  itself  changed  ! 
Suppose  Mr.  Carlyle  should  bring  out  a  yearly  volume 
about  all  this?"  This  was  Y 's  last  flight  of  elo- 
quence with  me,  for  catching  the  eyes  of  a  lady  (your  Miss 

L of  "The  Gladiator")  fixed  on  me  with  the  most 

ludicrous  expression  of  sympathy,  I  fairly  burst  out 
laughing  till  the  tears  ran  down ;  and  when  I  had  re- 
covered myself,  the  old  gentleman  had  turned  for  com- 
pensation to  J.  M .  J.  had  reasons  for  being  civil  to 

him  which  I  had  not,  Mr.  Y being  his  landlord  ;  but 

he  seemed  to  be  answering  him  in  his  sleep  while  his 
waking  thoughts  were  intent  on  an  empty  chair  betwixt 
Geraldine  and  myself,  and  eventually  he  made  it  his 
own.  As  if  to  deprecate  my  confounding  him  with  these 

'Peter  Nimmo's  sermon  on  Ananias  and  Sapphira:    "Tempted 
by  some  demon  more  wicked  than  his  wife." 

159 


The  Second   Post 


Y 's,  he   immediately   began  to  speak  in  the  most 

disrespectful  manner  of  Mechanics'  Institutes  "  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing";  and  then  we  got  on  these  eternal 
Vestiges  of  Creation,1  which  he  termed,  rather  happily, 
"animated  mud."  Geraldine  and  Mrs.  Paulet  were 
wanting  to  engage  him  in  a  doctrinal  discussion,  which 
they  are  extremely  fond  of:  "Look  at  Jane,"  suddenly 
exclaimed  Geraldine,  "she  is  quizzing  us  in  her  own 

mind.     You  must  know"  (to  Mr.  M )  "we  cannot  get 

Jane  to  care  a  bit  about  doctrines."     "I  should  think 

not,"  said  M ,  with  great  vivacity  ;  "  Mrs.  Carlyle  is 

the  most  concrete  woman  that  I  have  seen  for  a  long 
while."  "Oh,"  said  Geraldine,  "she  puts  all  her  wisdom 
into  practice,  and  so  never  gets  into  scrapes."  "Yes," 
said  M — —  in  a  tone  significant  of  much,  "to  keep  out 
of  doctrines  is  the  only  way  to  keep  out  of  scrapes." 
Was  not  that  a  creditable  speech  in  a  Unitarian  ? 

Miss  L is  a  frank,  rather  agreeable,  woman,  forty 

or  thereabouts,  who  looks  as  if  she  had  gone  through  a 
good  deal  of  hardship;  not  "a  domineering  genius" 
by  any  means,2  but  with  sense  enough  for  all  practical 
purposes,  such  as  admiring  you  to  the  skies,  and  Cromwell 
too.  The  rest  of  the  people  were  "chiefly  musical,  Mr. 
Carlyle."  Mrs.  A —  -  is  very  much  fallen  off  in  her 
singing  since  last  year ;  I  suppose  from  squalling  so 
much  to  her  pupils.  She  is  to  dine  here  to-day,  and  ever 
so  many  people  besides,  to  meet  those  R— — s.  Doubt- 
less we  shall  be  "borne  through  with  an  honourable 
throughbearing  "  ; 3  but  quietness  is  best. 

1  Dull  Book  (quasi-atheistic),  much  talked  of  then. 

2  Jeffrey?     "Pooh!    clever    enough,    but    not    a    domineering 
genius!"     (Poor    Gray    of    the    High    School,    Edinburgh,    thirty 
years  before.) 

3  Burgher  minister's  thanksgiving  on  a  Sacramental  occasion. 

1 60 


Particular  Wife  to  Particular  Husband 

And  now  I  must  go  and  walk,  while  the  sun  shines. 
Our  weather  here  is  very  showery  and  cold.  I  heard  a 
dialogue  the  other  morning  betwixt  Mr.  Paulet  and  his 
factotum,  which  amused  me  much.  The  factotum  was 
mowing  the  lawn.  Mr.  Paulet  threw  up  the  breakfast- 
room  window,  and  called  to  him:  "Knolles  !  how  looks 
my  wheat?"  "Very  distressed  indeed,  sir."  "Are  we 
much  fallen  down?"  "No,  sir,  but  we  are  black,  very 
black."  "All  this  rain,  I  should  have  thought,  would 
have  made  us  fall  down  ? "  "Where  the  crops  are  heavy 
they  are  a  good  deal  laid,  sir,  but  it  would  take  a  vast 
of  rain  to  lay  us."  "Oh,  then,  Knolles,  it  is  because  we 
are  not  powerful  enough  that  we  are  not  fallen  down?" 
"Sir?"  "It  is  because  we  are  not  rich  enough  ?"  "Beg 
pardon,  sir,  but  I  don't  quite  understand  ?"  Mr.  Paulet 
shut  the  window  and  returned  to  his  breakfast.  God 
keep  you,  dear.  —  Your  own  J.  C. 


VI 

August  5,  1852 

YOU  recollect,  dear,  that  Macready  told  me  of  two 
routes,  recommending  that  by  Frome  as  the 
quickest  and  least  fatiguing;  so  I  rendered  myself  at 
the  Paddington  station  on  Friday  morning,  with  my 
night  things  in  a  bag  on  one  arm  and  my  "blessed"1 
in  a  basket  on  the  other.  He  gave  me  no  trouble,  kept 
himself  hidden  and  motionless  till  the  train  started, 
and  then  looked  out  cautiously,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"Are  we  safe ?"  The  journey  to  Frome  was  quite  a  rest 
after  that  morning's  work  (carrying  down  all  the  books 
from  the  top  landing-place  into  the  back  parlour),  and 
1  Dog  Nero. 


The  Second   Post 

I  descended  from  the  train  quite  fresh  for  the  thirty  miles 
by  coach. 

But  when  I  inquired  about  the  coach  to  Sherborne, 
I  was  told  there  was  none.  "A  coach  passing  through 
Sherborne  passed  .through  Frome  without  coming  to  the 
station  at  eleven  in  the  morning,"  three  hours  before  the 
time  we  were  at;  "no  other  since  many  months  back." 
My  first  thought  was,  "What  a  mercy  you  were  not  with 
me !"  my  next  that  the  Macreadys  could  not  blame  me 
for  keeping  them  waiting;  and  then  I  "considered,"  like 
the  piper's  cow,  and  resolved  not  to  stay  all  day  and 
night  at  Frome,  but  to  take  a  Yeovil  coach,  which  started 
at  five,  and  which  could  take  me,  I  was  told,  to  a  wayside 
inn  within  eight  miles  of  Sherborne,  and  there  I  hoped 
to  find  a  fly  "  or  something."  Meanwhile  I  would  proceed 
to  the  town  of  Frome,  a  mile  from  the  station,  and  get 
something  to  eat,  and  even  to  drink,  "feeling  it  my 
duty"  to  keep  my  heart  up  by  all  needful  appliances. 
I  left  my  little  bag  at  the  station,  where  the  coach 
came,  and  set  my  dog  quite  free,  and  we  pursued  our 
way  as  calmly  and  naturally  as  if  we  had  known  where 
we  were  going. 

Frome  is  a  dull,  dirty-looking  place,  full  of  plumbers ; 
one  could  fancy  the  Bennett  controversy  l  must  have  been 
a  godsend  to  it.  I  saw  several  inns,  and  chose  "The 
George"  for  its  name's  sake.  I  walked  in  and  asked  to 
have  some  cold  meat  and  a  pint  bottle  of  Guinness's 
porter.  They  showed  me  to  an  ill-aired  parlour,  and 
brought  me  some  cold  lamb  that  the  flies  had  been  buz- 
zing round  for  a  week  —  even  Nero  disdained  to  touch 
it.  I  ate  bread,  however,  and  drank  all  the  porter ;  and 

1  Something  in  the  newspaper. 
l62 


Particular  Wife  to   Particular  Husband 

"the  cha-arge"1  for  that  feeble  refection  was  2s.  6d. ! 
Already  I  had  paid  one  pound  eight  and  sixpence  for 
the  train.  It  was  going  to  be  a  most  unexpectedly 
costly  journey  to  me.  But  for  that  reflection  I  could 
almost  have  laughed  at  my  forlorn  position  there. 

The  inn  and  town  were  "so  disagreeable"  that  I  went 
presently  back  to  the  station,  preferring  to  wait  there. 
One  of  the  men  who  had  informed  me  about  the  coach 
came  to  me,  as  I  was  sitting  on  a  bench,  and  remarked 
on  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  especially  of  some  scarlet 
beans  that  were  growing  in  his  own  piece  of  garden. 
"Ah,"  he  said,  "I  have  lived  in  London,  and  I  have  lived 
abroad ;  I  have  been  here  and  there,  backwards  and 
forwards,  while  I  was  in  service  with  them  as  never 
could  rest ;  but  I  am  satisfied  now  that  the  only  content- 
ment for  man  is  in  growing  his  own  VEGETABLE!" 
"Look  at  them  beans,"  he  said  again.  "  Well,  to-morrow 
they'll  be  ready,  and  I'll  be  pulling  them,  and  boiling 
them,  and  eating  them  —  and  such  a  taste  !  No  agri- 
culture like  that  in  Piccadilly!"  Then  he  looked 
sympathisingly  at  me  and  said,  "I'm  going  to  get  you 
something  you'll  like,  and  that's  a  glass  of  cool,  fresh, 
clear  water;"  and  he  went  away  with  a  jug  to  his 
garden  and  fetched  some  water  from  a  little  spring  well 
and  a  great  handful  of  mignonette.  "There!  there's 
something  sweet  for  you,  and  here's  splendid  water,  that 

1  In  my  first  voyage  to  London  (1824,  by  Leith  smack)  a  certain 
very  rustic-looking,  but  polite  and  quiet  old  baronet,  called  Sir 
David  Milne,  slept  in  the  same  cabin  with  me;  and  there  and  on 
deck  was  an  amusing  study.  Courteous,  solemn,  yet  awkward, 
dull ;  chewing  away  the  r  when  he  spoke,  which  indeed  was 
seldom,  and  then  mainly  in  the  way  of  economic  inquiry  to 
passengers  who  knew  London  —  what  you  could  do  there,  see,  eat, 
etc.;  and  to  every  item,  the  farther  question:  "And  what  is  the 
cha-arge  (charge)  ?  " 

163 


The  Second  Post 

you  won't  find  the  like  of  in  Piccadilly  !"  I  asked  him 
"how  it  was  going  with  Mr.  Bennett?  "  "  Huh,  I  hear 
no  complaints,  but  I  goes  to  neither  one  nor  other  of 
them,  and  follows  my  own  notions.  I  finds  agriculture 
the  thing!"  He  would  have  been  worth  a  hundred 
pounds  to  Dickens,  that  man. 

I  had  the  coach  all  to  myself  for  awhile ;  then  a  young 
gentleman  got  in,  who  did  exactly  the  right  thing  by  me, 
neither  spoke  to  me  nor  looked  at  me  till  we  stopped  at 
Castle  Carey  (Yeovil  is  pronounced  Youghal,  Carey 
Carry.  I  grew  quite  frightened  that  I  had  been  somehow 
transported  into  Ireland).  There  the  young  gentleman 
went  into  the  inn,  and  said  to  me  first,  "Excuse  the 
liberty  I  take  in  asking,  but  would  you  take  anything  —  a 
little  wine  and  water  ?"  I  thought  that  very  polite ;  but  I 
was  to  meet  with  "something  more  exquisite  still"  before 
I  got  to  Sherborne.  At  the  "  Sparkford  "  Inn,  eight  miles 
from  Sherborne,  I  got  out  and  asked,  had  they  a  fly  ? 
"Yes,  but  one  of  its  wheels  was  broken,  and  it  was  gone 
to  be  mended  !"  "Had  they  any  other  conveyance  that 
was  whole  —  a  gig  or  cart  ?  "  "Yes,  they  had  a  nice  little 
gig,  and  I  should  have  the  loan  of  a  cloak  to  keep  me 
warm"  (the  evening  was  rather  chill).  So  I  went  in,  and 
sat  down  in  a  parlour ;  where  an  old  gentleman  was  finish- 
ing off  with  bread-and-cheese.  He  soon  made  himself 
master  of  my  case,  and  regretted  he  was  not  going  back 
to  Sherborne  that  night,  as  then  he  would  have  taken  me 
in  his  carriage;  and  presently  he  offered  something  else 
more  practical,  viz.,  to  try  to  recover  my  parasol  (my 
mother's,  the  one  she  bought  with  the  sovereign  you  gave 
her,1  and  which  I  had  got  new  covered),  left  stupidly  on 

1 A  sovereign  to  each  of  them,  on  returning  home  with  a 
pocketful  from  my  "first  lecture."  Ah,  me ! 

164 


Particular  Wife  to  Particular  Husband 

the  roof  of  the  coach,  and  never  recollected  till  the  coach, 
with  its  four  horses,  had  thundered  past  the  window  !  If 
the  landlady  would  tell  the  coachman  about  it  next  day, 
and  get  it  there,  he,  the  old  gentleman,  would  bring  it  to 
Sherborne  House.  I  went  into  the  lobby  to  tell  the 
landlady,  some  five  or  eight  minutes  after  the  coach  had 
started,  and  told  her,  in  presence  of  a  gentleman,  who 
was  preparing  to  start  in  a  barouchette  with  two  horses. 
He  looked  hard  at  me,  but  said  nothing ;  and  a  minute 
or  two  after  I  saw  him  drive  past  the  window.  Some 
twenty  minutes  after,  I  started  myself,  in  a  little  gig,  with 
a  brisk  little  horse,  and  silent  driver.  Nothing  could  be 
more  pleasant  than  so  pirring  through  quiet  roads,  in  the 
dusk,  with  the  moon  coming  out.  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
reading  about  myself  in  a  Miss  Austen  novel.  But  it 
got  beyond  Miss  Austen  when,  at  the  end  of  some  three 
miles,  before  a  sort  of  carrier's  inn,  the  gentleman  of  the 
barouchette  stept  into  the  middle  of  the  road,  making 
a  sort  of  military  signal  to  my  driver,  which  he  repeated 
with  impatience  when  the  man  did  not  at  once  draw  up  ! 
I  sat  confounded,  expecting  what  he  would  do  next.  We 
had  halted;  the  gentleman  came  to  my  side,  and  said, 
exactly  as  in  a  book :  "Madam,  I  have  the  happiness  of 
informing  you  that  I  have  reclaimed  your  parasol;  and 
it  lies  here  in  my  carriage  ready  to  be  restored  !"  "But 
how  on  earth?"  I  asked.  "Madam,  I  judged  that  it 
would  be  more  pleasing  for  you  to  take  the  parasol  along 
with  yourself  than  to  trust  to  its  being  brought  by  the 
other  gentleman ;  so  I  just  galloped  my  horses,  overtook 
the  coach  as  it  was  leaving  this  court,  reclaimed  the 
parasol,  and  have  waited  here,  knowing  you  could  take 
no  other  road  to  Sherborne,  for  the  happiness  of  present- 
ing it  to  you  !"  —  To  an  ostler  —  "Bring  the  parasol !" 

165 


The  Second  Post 

It  was  brought,  and  handed  to  me.  And  then  I  found 
myself  making  a  speech  in  the  same  style,  caught  by  the 
infection  of  the  thing.  I  said:  "Sir,  this  day  has  been 
full  of  mischances  for  me,  but  I  regard  the  recovery  of 
my  parasol  so  unexpectedly  as  a  good  omen,  and  have  a 
confidence  that  I  shall  now  reach  my  destination  in  safety. 
Accept  my  thanks,  though  it  is  impossible  to  give  any 
adequate  expression  to  my  sense  of  your  courtesy  ! "  I 
never  certainly  made  so  long  and  formal  a  speech  in  my 
life.  And  how  I  came  to  make  it  anything  like  it  I  can't 
imagine,  unless  it  were  under  mesmerism  !  We  bowed 
to  each  other  like  first  cousins  of  Sir  Charles  Grandison, 
and  I  pirred  on.  "Do  you  know  that  gentleman?"  I 
asked  my  driver.  "Never  saw  him  before." 

I  found  Sherborne  House  without  difficulty ;  and  a 
stately,  beautiful  house  it  was,  and  a  kind  welcome  it  had 
for  me.  The  mistake  had  been  discovered  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  great  anxiety  felt  all  day  as  to  my  fate.  I  was 
wonderfully  little  tired,  and  able  to  make  them  all  (her 
too)  laugh  with  my  adventures.  But  I  must  positively 
interrupt  this  penny-a-lining,  and  go  to  bed.  It  is  true 
to  the  letter,  all  I  have  told. 

My  two  days  at  Sherborne  House  were  as  happy  as 
could  possibly  be  with  that  fearfully  emaciated,  dying 
woman  before  my  eyes.  They  were  all  doing  their  best  to 
be  cheerful  —  herself  as  cheerful  as  the  others.  She  never 
spoke  of  her  death,  except  in  taking  leave  of  me ;  when  she 
took  my  head  in  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  and  gave  me  her 
solemn  blessing,  and  asked  me  to  come  again  with  you,  to 
see  William  and  the  children,  when  she  should  be  gone. 
That  was  a  dreadful  trial  of  my  composure.  I  am  so  glad 
I  went,  it  pleased  her  and  all  of  them  so  much  ! 

The  journey  back  by  Dorchester  went  all  right,  and 
166 


Particular  Wife  to  Particular  Husband 

was  less  expensive,  for  I  came  by  the  second-class,  and 
so  saved  the  nine  shillings  my  gig  had  cost  me.  It  was 
a  weary  long  way,  however,  from  a  quarter  before  nine 
till  half  after  seven  flying  along  in  one  shape  or  other, 
with  only  ten  minutes'  delay  (at  Southampton).  My 
only  adventure  on  the  road  back  was  falling  in  with  a 
young  unfortunate  female  in  the  Chelsea  boat,  the  strang- 
est compound  of  angel  and  devil  I  ever  set  eyes  on,  and 
whom,  had  I  been  a  great,  rich  lady,  I  should  decidedly 
have  —  brought  home  to  tea  with  me  and  tried  "to  save." 
The  helpless  thought  that  I  had  nothing  to  offer  her 
instead  alone  prevented  me.  I  could  not  leave  her  how- 
ever without  speaking  to  her,  and  my  words  were  so 
moving,  through  my  own  emotion,  that  she  rushed  from 
me  in  tears  to  the  other  side  of  the  vessel.  You  may  feel 
a  certain  curiosity  to  know  what  I  said.  I  only  recollect 
something  about  "her  mother,  alive  or  dead,  and  her 
evident  superiority  to  the  life  she  was  leading."  She 
said,  "Do  you  think  so,  ma'am?"  with  a  look  of  bitter 
wretchedness  and  forced  gaiety  that  I  shall  never  forget. 
She  was  trying  to  smile  defiantly,  when  she  burst  into 
tears  and  ran  away. 

I  made  a  frantic  appeal  to  the  workmen  the  other  day, 
since  when  we  have  been  getting  on  a  little  more  briskly. 
The  spokesman  of  them,  a  dashing  young  man,  whom 
you  have  not  seen,  answered  me :  "My  dear  ( ! )  madam, 
you  must  have  patience,  indeed  you  must ;  it  will  be  all 
done  —  some  day  ! "  The  weather  is  most  lovely.  Mon- 
sieur le  Thermomctre  pretty  generally  at  70°. 

My  health  continues  wonderfully  good.  To-day  I  dine 
at  the  Brookfield's,  for  what  poor  Helen  used  to  call  "a 
fine  change."  —  Ever  yours  affectionately, 

JANE  W.  C. 
167 


The  Second   Post 


VII 

Notes  of  a  Sitter-Still 

July  n,  1858 

BOTKIN  (what  a  name!),  your  Russian  translator, 
has  called.  Luckily  Charlotte  had  been  forewarned 
to  admit  him  if  he  came  again.  He  is  quite  a  different 
type  from  Tourgueneff,  though  a  tall  one,  this  one  too.  I 
should  say  he  must  be  a  Cossack  —  not  that  I  ever  saw  a 
Cossack  or  heard  one  described,  instinct  is  all  I  have  for 
it.  He  has  flattened  high-boned  cheeks  —  a  nose  flat- 
tened towards  the  point  —  small,  very  black,  deep-set 
eyes,  with  thin  semi-circular  eyebrows  —  a  wide  thin 
mouth  —  a  complexion  whity-grey,  and  the  skin  of  his 
face  looked  thick  enough  to  make  a  saddle  of !  He  does 
not  possess  himself  like  Tourgueneff,  but  bends  and  ges- 
ticulates like  a  Frenchman. 

He  burst  into  the  room  with  wild  expressions  of  his  "ad- 
miration for  Mr.  Carlyle."  I  begged  him  to  be  seated, 
and  he  declared  "Mr.  Carlyle  was  the  man  for  Russia." 
I  tried  again  and  again  to  "enchain"  a  rational  conversa- 
tion, but  nothing  could  I  get  out  of  him  but  rhapsodies 
about  you  in  the  frightfullest  English  that  I  ever  heard 
out  of  a  human  head  !  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  (as  he  told 
me)  he  reads  English  much  better  than  he  speaks  it,  else 
he  must  have  produced  an  inconceivable  translation  of 
"Hero  Worship."  Such  as  it  is,  anyhow,  "a  large 
deputation  of  the  students  of  St.  Petersburg"  waited  on 
him  (Botkin),  to  thank  him  in  the  strongest  terms  for 
having  translated  for  them  "Hero  Worship,"  and  made 
known  to  them  Carlyle.  And  even  the  young  Russian 
ladies  now  read  "Hero  Worship"  and  "unnerstants  it 
168 


Particular  Wife  to  Particular  Husband 

thor-lie."  He  was  all  in  a  perspiration  when  he  went 
away  and  so  was  I ! 

I  should  like  to  have  asked  him  some  questions;  for 
example,  how  he  came  to  know  of  your  works  (he  had 
told  me  he  had  to  send  to  England  for  them  "at  extreem 
cost"),  but  it  would  have  been  like  asking  a  cascade! 
The  best  that  I  could  do  for  him  I  did.  I  gave  him  a 
photograph  of  you,  and  put  him  up  to  carrying  it  in  the 
top  of  his  hat ! 

I  don't  think  I  ever  told  you  the  surprising  visit  I  had 
from  David  Aitken  1  and  Bess.  I  was  so  ill  when  I  wrote 
after  that  all  details  were  omitted.  Charlotte  had  come 
to  say  one  of  the  latch-keys  was  refusing  to  act.  I  went 
to  see  what  the  matter  was,  and  when  we  opened  the 
door,  behold,  David  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps,  and  Bess 
preparing  to  knock  !  "Is  this  Mrs.  Carlyle's  ? "  she  asked 
of  myself,  while  I  was  gazing  dumbfoundered.  "My 
goodness  ! "  cried  I.  At  the  sound  of  my  voice  she  knew 
me  —  not  till  then  —  though  at  my  own  door  !  and  cer- 
tainly the  recognition  was  the  furthest  from  compliment- 
ary I  ever  met.  She  absolutely  staggered,  screaming  out, 
"God  preserve  me,  Jane!  That  you?"  Pleasant! 
David  coming  up  the  steps  brought  a  little  calm  into  the 
business,  and  the  call  got  itself  transacted  better  or 
worse. 

They  were  on  their  way  home  from  Italy.  Both 
seemed  rather  more  human  than  last  time,  especially 
David,  whose  face  had  taken  an  expression  of  "Peace  on 
earth  and  goodwill  unto  men."  Bess  had  lost  a  tooth  or 
two,  was  rather  thinner,  and  her  eyes  hollower ;  otherwise 
much  the  same. 

1  Minister  of  Minto  and  wife  (once  Bess  Stoddart),  Bradfute's 
niece  and  heiress. 

169 


The  Second   Post 

They  invited  me  very  kindly  to  Minto,  and  he  seemed 
really  in  earnest. 

July  1 6 

SURELY,  dear,  the  shortest,  most  unimportant  note 
you  ran  write  is  worth  a  bit  of  paper  all  to  itself  ? 
Such  a  mixed  MS.,  with  flaps  too,  may  be  a  valuable 
literary  curiosity  "a  hundred  years  hence,"  but  it  is  a  trial 
of  patience  to  the  present  reader,  who,  on  eagerly  opening 
a  letter  from  you,  had  not  calculated  on  having  to  go 
through  a  process  like  seeking  the  source  of  the  Niger, 
in  a  small  way. 

For  the  rest,  you  don't  at  all  estimate  my  difficulties  in 
writing  a  letter  every  day,  when  I  am  expected  to  tell 
how  I  am,  and  when  "I's  ashamed  to  say  I's  no  better." 
Dispense  me  from  saying  anything  whatever  about  my 
health;  let  me  write  always  "Notes"  and  it  would  be 
easy  for  me  to  send  you  a  daily  letter.  As  easy  at  least 
as  it  is  to  be  lively  with  the  callers,  who  go  away  in  doubt 
(like  George  Cooke)  "whether  I  am  the  most  stoical  of 
women,  or  whether  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  the 
matter  with  me?" 

But  you  want  to  be  told  how  I  sleep,  &c.  &c. ;  and 
can't  you  understand  that  having  said  twice,  thrice,  call  it 
four  times,  "I  am  sleeping  hardly  any,  I  am  very  nervous 
and  suffering"  the  fifth  time  that  I  have  the  same  account 
to  repeat,  "horrible  is  the  thought  to  me,"  and  I  take 
refuge  in  silence.  Wouldn't  you  do  the  same  ?  Suppose, 
instead  of  putting  myself  in  the  omnibus  the  other  day, 
and  letting  myself  be  carried  in  unbroken  silence  to 
Richmond  and  back  again,  I  had  sat  at  home  writing  to 
you  all  the  thoughts  that  were  in  my  head  ?  But  that  I 
never  would  have  done;  not  a  hundredth  part  of  the 
170 


Particular  Wife  to  Particular  Husband 

thoughts  in  my  head  have  ever  been  or  ever  will  be 
spoken  or  written  —  as  long  as  I  keep  my  senses,  at  least. 

Only  don't  you,  "the  apostle  of  silence,"  find  fault  with 
me  for  putting  your  doctrine  in  practice.  There  are  days 
when  I  must  hold  my  peace  or  speak  things  all  from  the 
lips  outwards,  or  things  that,  being  of  the  nature  of  self- 
lamentation,  had  better  never  be  spoken. 

My  cold  in  the  meanwhile  ?  It  is  still  carrying  on,  till 
Lonsdale  coom,1  in  the  shape  of  cough  and  a  stuffed 
head ;  but  it  does  not  hurt  me  anywhere,  and  I  no  longer 
need  to  keep  to  the  house;  the  weather  being  warm 
enough,  I  ride  in  an  omnibus  every  day  more  or  less. 

All  last  night  it  thundered;  and  there  was  one  such 
clap  as  I  never  heard  in  my  life,  preceded  by  a  flash  that 
covered  my  book  for  a  moment  with  blue  light  (I  was 
reading  in  bed  about  three  in  the  morning,  and  you  can't 
think  what  a  wild  effect  that  blue  light  on  the  book  had  !). 
To-day  it  is  still  thundering  in  the  distance,  and  soft, 
large,  hot  drops  of  rain  falling.  What  of  the  three  tailors  ? 

I  could  swear  you  never  heard  of  Madame de . 

But  she  has  heard  of  you ;  and  if  you  were  in  the  habit 
of  thanking  God  "for.  the  blessing  made  to  fly  over  your 
head,"  you  might  offer  a  modest  thanksgiving  for  the 
honour  that  stunning  lady  did  you  in  galloping  madly  all 
round  Hyde  Park  in  chase  of  your  "brown  wide-awake" 
the  last  day  you  rode  there;  no  mortal  could  predict 
what  the  result  would  be  if  she  came  up  with  you.  To 
seize  your  bridle  and  look  at  you  till  she  was  satisfied  was 
a  trifle  to  what  she  was  supposed  capable  of.  She  only 
took  to  galloping  after  you  when  more  legitimate  means 
had  failed. 

She    circulates    everywhere,    this    madcap    "French- 
1  Cumberland  old  woman. 
171 


The  Second    Post 

woman."  She  met  "  the  Rev.  John"  (Barlow),  and  said, 
when  he  was  offering  delicate  attentions,  "There  is  just 
one  thing  I  wish  you  to  do  for  me  —  to  take  me  to  see 
Mr.  Carlyle."  "  Tell  me  to  ask  the  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury to  dance  a  polka  with  you,"  said  Barlow,  aghast, 
and  "I  would  dare  it,  though  I  have  not  the  honour 
of  his  acquaintance;  but  take  anybody  to  Mr.  Carlyle 
—  impossible  !"  "That  silly  old  Barlow  won't  take  me 
to  Carlyle,"  said  the  lady  to  George  Cooke ;  "you  must  do 
it  then."  "  Gracious  heavens  ! "  said  George  Cooke ;  "ask 
me  to  take  you  up  to  the  Queen,  and  introduce  you  to 
her,  and  I  would  do  it,  and  'take  the  six  months'  im- 
prisonment,' or  whatever  punishment  was  awarded  me; 
but  take  anybody  to  Mr.  Carlyle  —  impossible  !" 

Soon  after  this,  George  Cooke  met  her  riding  in  the 
Park,  and  said,  "I  passed  Mr.  Carlyle  a  little  way  on,  in 
his  '  brown  wide-awake.'  "  The  lady  lashed  her  horse  and 
set  off  in  pursuit,  leaving  her  party  out  of  sight,  and 
went  all  round  the  Park  at  full  gallop  looking  out  for  the 
wide-awake.  She  is  an  authoress  in  a  small  way,  this 
charming  Frenchwoman ;  and  is  the  wife  of  a  newspaper 
editor  at  Paris,  who  "went  into  the  country"  (Miss  F. 
told  me)  "and  brought  back  a  flowerpot  full  of  earth, 

and,  on  the  strength  of  that,  put  de to  his  name  of 

Monsieur ." 

But  the  absurdest  fact  about  her  is,  that,  being  a 
"Frenchwoman,"  she  is  the  reputed  daughter  of  Lord  F. 
and  a  Mrs.  G. !  It  is  in  Lord  F.'s  house  that  she  stays 
here.  Miss  F.  also  declares  she  was  a  celebrated  singer 
at  Munich.  But  Miss  F.  is  a  very  loose  talker,  and  was 
evidently  jealous  of  the  sensation  the  lady  produced  by 
her  wit  and  eccentricities. 

Will  that  suit  you  ? 

172 


XIII 

THE  WITTY  CANON 

The  Rev.  Sydney  Smith  to  Lady  Holland        x^»        *£>< 

(Extracts) 

December  9,  1807 

~\  \  7"AR,  my  dear  Lady  Holland,  is  natural  to  women, 
*  *  as  well  as  men  —  at  least  with  their  own  sex  !  A 
dreadful  controversy  has  broken  out  in  Bath,  whether 
tea  is  most  effectually  sweetened  by  lump  or  pounded 
sugar ;  and  the  worst  passions  of  the  human  mind  are 
called  into  action  by  the  pulverists  and  the  lumpists.  I 
have  been  pressed  by  ladies  on  both  sides  to  speak  in 
favour  of  their  respective  theories,  at  the  Royal  Institu- 
tion, which  I  have  promised  to  do. 

September  9,  1808 

T  TAKE  the  liberty  to  send  you  two  brace  of  grouse, 
—  curious,  because  killed  by  a  Scotch  metaphy- 
sician; in  other  and  better  language,  they  are  mere 
ideas,  shot  by  other  ideas,  out  of  a  pure  intellectual  notion, 
called  a  gun. 

October  8,  1808 

MY  lot  is  now  fixed  and  my  heritage  fixed,  —  most 
probably.     But  you  may  choose  to  make  me  a 
bishop,  and  if  you  do,  I  think  I  shall  never  do  you  dis- 

173 


The  Second   Post 

credit ;  for  I  believe  it  is  out  of  the  power  of  lawn  and 
velvet,  and  the  crisp  hair  of  dead  men  fashioned  into  a 
wig,  to  make  me  a  dishonest  man ;  but  if  you  do  not,  I 
am  perfectly  content. 

June  24,  1809 

I  HAVE  laid  down  two  rules  for  the  country :  first, 
not  to  smite  the  partridge ;  for  if  I  fed  the  poor, 
and  comforted  the  sick,  and  instructed  the  ignorant,  yet 
I  should  be  nothing  worth,  if  I  smote  the  partridge.  If 
anything  ever  endangers  the  Church,  it  will  be  the 
strong  propensity  to  shooting  for  which  the  clergy  are 
remarkable.  Ten  thousand  good  shots  dispersed  over 
the  country  do  more  harm  to  the  cause  of  religion  than 
the  arguments  of  Voltaire  and  Rousseau.  The  squire 
never  reads,  but  is  it  possible  he  can  beb'eve  that  religion 
to  be  genuine  whose  ministers  destroy  his  game  ?  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Sydney  is  all  rural  bustle,  impatient  for  the 
parturition  of  hens  and  pigs ;  I  wait  patiently,  knowing 
all  will  come  in  due  season  ! 

September  9,  1809 

I  DARE  say  it  cost  you  much  to  part  with  Charles; 
but  in  the  present  state  of  the  world,  it  is  better 
to  bring  up  our  young  ones  to  war  than  to  peace.  I 
burn  gunpowder  every  day  under  the  nostrils  of  my 
little  boy,  and  talk  to  him  often  of  fighting,  to  put  him 
out  of  conceit  with  civil  sciences,  and  prepare  him  for 
the  evil  times  which  are  coming  ! 

December  8,  1809 

I  HAVE  been  long  intending  to  write  you  a  letter  of 
congratulation.     There    is     more    happiness     in    a 
multitude  of  children  than  safety  in  a  multitude  of 

174 


The  Witty  Canon 

counsellors ;   and  if  I  were  a  rich  man,  I  should  like  to 
have  twenty  children.  .  .  . 

I  hear  you  have  a  good  tutor  for  Henry,  which  I  am 
exceedingly  glad  of.  Lord  Grey  has  met  with  no  tutor 
as  yet ;  tutors  do  not  like  to  go  beyond  Adrian's  Wall. 
You  are  aware  that  it  is  necessary  to  fumigate  Scotch 
tutors :  they  are  excellent  men,  but  require  this  little 
preliminary  caution.  They  are  apt  also  to  break  the 
church  windows,  and  get  behind  a  hedge  and  fling 
stones  at  the  clergyman  of  the  parish,  and  betray  other 
little  symptoms  of  irreligion ;  but  these  you  must  not 
mind.  Send  me  word  if  he  has  any  tricks  of  this  kind. 
I  have  seen  droves  of  them,  and  know  how  to  manage 
them. 

1809 

I  MEAN  to  make  some  maxims,  like  Rochefoucauld, 
and   to  preserve   them.     My  first  is   this :  —  After 
having  lived  half  their  lives  respectable,  many  men  get 
tired  of  honesty,  and  many  women  of  propriety. 

January  27,  1810 

I  CANNOT  say  how  much  I  like  the  said  Earl  [Grey] ; 
—  a  fine  nature,  a  just  and  vigorous  understanding, 
a  sensitive  disposition,  and  infirm  health.  These  are 
his  leading  traits.  His  excellencies  are  courage,  dis- 
cretion, and  practical  sense ;  his  deficiency,  a  want  of 
executive  coarseness. 

November  3,  1810 

WE    liked  Mrs. .     It  was  wrong,  at  her  time 
of  life,  to  be  circumvented  by  —   — 's  diagrams ; 
but  there  is  some  excuse  in  the  novelty  of  the  attack, 

175 


The  Second  Post 

as  I  believe  she  is  the  first  lady  that  ever  fell  a  victim 
to  algebra,  or  that  was  geometrically  led  from  the  paths 
of  discretion. 

May  23,  1811 

HOW  very  odd,  dear  Lady  Holland,  to  ask  me  to 
dine  with  you  on  Sunday,  the  gth,  when  I  am 
coming  to  stay  with  you  from  the  5th  to  the  i2th  !  It 
is  like  giving  a  gentleman  an  assignation  for  Wednesday, 
when  you  are  going  to  marry  him  on  the  preceding 
Sunday,  —  an  attempt  to  combine  the  stimulus  of  gallan- 
try with  the  security  of  connubial  relations.  I  do  not  pro- 
pose to  be  guilty  of  the  slighest  infidelity  to  you  while  I  am 
at  Holland  House,  except  you  dine  in  town ;  and  then 
it  will  not  be  infidelity,  but  spirited  recrimination. 

September  17,  1813 

FEW  events  are  of  so  little  consequence  as  the 
fecundity  of  a  clergyman's  wife;  still  your  kind 
dispositions  towards  me  justify  me  in  letting  you  know 
that  Mrs.  Sydney  and  her  new-born  son  are  both 
extremely  well.  His  name  will  be  Grafton,  and  I  shall 
bring  him  up  a  Methodist  and  a  Tory. 

June  25,  1814 

I  LIKED  London  better  than  ever  I  liked  it  before, 
and  simply,  I  believe,  from  water-drinking.     With- 
out this,  London  is  stupefaction  and  inflammation.     It 
is  not  the  love  of  wine,  but  thoughtlessness  and  un- 
conscious imitation :  other  men  poke  out  their  hands 
for  the  revolving  wine,  and  one  does  the  same,  without 
thinking    of    it.     All    people    above    the    condition    of 
labourers  are  ruined  by  excess  of  stimulus  and  nourish- 
176 


The  Witty  Canon 

ment,  clergy  included.  I  never  yet  saw  any  gentleman 
who  ate  and  drank  as  little  as  was  reasonable. 

1815 

1VJOW  pray  do  settle  in  England,  and  remain  quiet; 
*  ^"  depend  upon  it,  it  is  the  most  agreeable  place.  I 
have  heard  five  hundred  travelled  people  assert  that 
there  is  no  such  agreeable  house  in  Europe  as  Holland 
House :  why  should  you  be  the  last  person  to  be  con- 
vinced of  this,  and  the  first  to  make  it  true? 

February  2,  1816 

MY  sister  was  a  most  amiable  and  enlightened 
woman ;  she  had  run  through  all  the  stamina  of 
constitution  nature  had  allotted  her,  and  died  of  old 
age,  in  youth.  The  loss  of  a  person  whom  I  would  have 
cultivated  as  a  friend,  if  nature  had  not  given  her  to  me 
as  a  relation,  is  a  serious  evil. 

July  31,  1817 

IT  is  very  curious  to  consider  in  what  manner  Homer 
gained,  in  so  extraordinary  a  degree,  the  affections 
of  such  a  number  of  persons  of  both  sexes,  —  all  ages, 
parties,  and  ranks  in  society ;  for  he  was  not  remarkably 
good-tempered,  nor  particularly  lively  and  agreeable ; 
and  an  inflexible  politician  on  the  unpopular  side.  The 
causes  are,  his  high  character  for  probity,  honour,  and 
talents ;  his  fine  countenance ;  the  benevolent  interest 
he  took  in  the  concerns  of  all  his  friends ;  his  simple 
and  gentlemanlike  manners ;  his  untimely  death. 


I 


October  i,  1823 

WAS  prepared  to  set  off  for  London,  when  a  better 
account  arrived  from  Dr.  Bond.    I  think  you  mis- 

N  177 


The    Second    Post 

take  Bond's  character  in  supposing  he  could  be  influenced 
by  partridges.  He  is  a  man  of  very  independent  mind, 
with  whom  pheasants  at  least,  or  perhaps  turkeys,  are 
necessary. 

Nothing  can  be  more  disgusting  than  an  Oratorio. 
How  absurd,  to  see  five  hundred  people  fiddling  like 
madmen  about  the  Israelites  in  the  Red  Sea !  Lord 
Morpeth  pretends  to  say  he  was  pleased,  but  I  see  a 
great  change  in  him  since  the  music-meeting.  Pray  tell 
Luttrell  he  did  wrong  not  to  come  to  the  music.  It  tired 
me  to  death ;  it  would  have  pleased  him.  He  is  a 
melodious  person,  and  much  given  to  sacred  music.  In 
his  fits  of  absence  I  have  heard  him  hum  the  Hundredth 
Psalm !  (Old  Version). 

October  19,  1823 

HPHE  Duchess  wrote  me  a  very  amusing  note  in  answer 
•»•  to  mine,  for  which  I  am  much  obliged.  All  duch- 
esses seem  agreeable  to  clergymen ;  but  she  would  really 
be  a  very  clever,  agreeable  woman,  if  she  were  married  to 
a  neighbouring  vicar ;  and  I  should  often  call  upon  her. 

November  6,  1827 

JEFFREY    has  been  here   with   his   adjectives,  who 
always  travel  with  him.     His  throat  is  giving  way ; 
so  much  wine  goes  down  it,  so  many  million  words  leap 
over  it,  how  can  it  rest  ?    Pray  make  him  a  judge ;  he  is 
a  truly  great  man,  and  is  very  heedless  of  his  own  inter- 
ests.    I  lectured  him  on  his  romantic  folly  of  wishing  his 
friends  to  be  preferred  before  himself,  and  succeeded,  I 
think,  in  making  him  a  little  more  selfish. 
178 


The  Witty  Canon 

BRISTOL,  February  17,  1828 

AN  extremely  comfortable  prebendal  house ;  seven- 
stall  stables  and  room  for  four  carriages,  so  that  I 
can  hold  all  your  cortege  when  you  come;  looks  to  the 
south,  and  is  perfectly  snug  and  parsonic;  masts  of 
West-Indiamen  seen  from  the  windows.  The  colleagues 
I  have  found  here  are  a  Mr.  Ridley,  cousin  to  Sir 
Matthew ;  a  very  good-natured,  agreeable  man,  —  deaf, 
tottering,  worldly-minded,  vain  as  a  lawyer,  noisy,  and 
perfectly  good-natured  and  obliging.  The  little  Dean  I 
have  not  seen;  he  is  as  small  as  the  Bishop,  they  say. 
It  is  supposed  that  the  one  of  these  ecclesiastics  elevated 
upon  the  shoulders  of  the  other,  would  fall  short  of  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury's  wig.  The  Archbishop  of 
York  is  forced  to  go  down  on  his  knees  to  converse  with 
the  Bishop  of  Bristol,  just  as  an  elephant  kneels  to  re- 
ceive its  rider. 

December  14,  1829 

I  TOLD if  he  would  have  patience  he  would  have 
a  little  girl  at  last.     I  might  have  said,  he  might  have 
twenty  little  girls.    What  is  there  to  prevent  him  from  hav- 
ing a  family  sufficient  to  exasperate  the  placid  Malthus  ? 
Luttrell  came  over  for  a  day,  from  whence  I  know  not, 
but  I  thought  not  from  good  pastures ;   at  least,  he  had 
not  his  usual  soup-and-pattie  look.     There  was  a  forced 
smile  upon  his  countenance,  which  seemed  to  indicate 
plain  roast  and  boiled,   and  a  sort  of  apple-pudding 
depression,  as  if  he  had  been  staying  with  a  clergyman. 


I 


May  1831 

MET  John  Russell  at  Exeter.    The  people  along  the 
road  were  very  much  disappointed  by  his  smallness. 
179 


The  Second   Post 

I  told  them  he  was  much  larger  before  the  Bill  was 
thrown  out,  but  was  reduced  by  excessive  anxiety  about 
the  people.  This  brought  tears  into  their  eyes ! 

July  1831 

PHILOSOPHER  MALTHUS  came  here  last  week. 
J-  I  got  an  agreeable  party  for  him  of  unmarried 
people.  There  was  only  one  lady  who  had  had  a  child ; 
but  he  is  a  good-natured  man,  and,  if  there  are  no 
appearances  of  approaching  fertility,  is  civil  to  every 
lady.  Malthus  is  a  real  moral  philosopher,  and  I  would 
almost  consent  to  speak  as  inarticulately,  if  I  could  think 
and  act  as  wisely. 

I  sit  in  my  beautiful  study,  looking  upon  a  thousand 
flowers,  and  read  agreeable  books,  in  order  to  keep  up 
arguments  with  Lord  Holland  and  Allen.  I  thank  God 
heartily  for  my  comfortable  situation  in  my  old  age,  — 
above  my  deserts,  and  beyond  my  former  hopes. 


ABBEVILLE,  October  2,  1835 

*~~PHERE  is  a  family  of  English  people  living  here  who 
A  have  been  here  for  five  years.  They  stopped  to 
change  horses,  liked  the  place,  and  have  been  here  ever 
since :  father,  mother,  two  handsome  daughters,  and 
some  young  children.  I  should  think  it  not  unlikely  that 
one  of  the  daughters  will  make  a  nuptial  alliance  with 
the  waiter,  or  give  her  hand  to  the  son  of  the  landlord,  in 
order  to  pay  the  bill.  .  .  . 

We  are  well,  and  are  going  to  sit  down  to  a  dinner  at 
five  francs  a-head.     We  are  going  regularly  through  the 
Burgundy  wines,  —  the  most  pernicious,  and  of  course  the 
180 


The  Witty  Canon 

best:    Macon  the  first  day,  Chablis  the  second  —  both 
excellent ;  to-day  Volnay. 

June  1840 

I  AM  giving  a  rout  this  evening  to  the  only  three 
persons  I  have  yet  discovered  at  Brighton.  I  have 
had  handbills  printed  to  find  other  London  people,  but 
I  believe  there  are  none.  I  shall  stay  till  the  28th.  You 
must  allow  the  Chain  Pier  to  be  a  great  luxury ;  and  I 
think  all  rich  and  rational  people  living  in  London  should 
take  small  doses  of  Brighton  from  time  to  time.  There 
cannot  be  a  better  place  than  this  to  refresh  metropolitan 
gentlemen  and  ladies,  wearied  with  bad  air,  falsehood, 
and  lemonade. 

November  6,  1842 

I  HAVE  not  the  heart,  when  an  amiable  lady  says, 
"Come  to  'Semiramis'  in  my  box,"  to  decline;  but 
I  got  bolder  at  a  distance.  "Semiramis"  would  be  to 
me  pure  misery.  I  love  music  very  little,  —  I  hate  act- 
ing ;  I  have  the  worst  opinion  of  Semiramis  herself,  and 
the  whole  thing  (I  cannot  help  it)  seems  so  childish  and  so 
foolish  that  I  cannot  abide  it.  Moreover,  it  would  be 
rather  out  of  etiquette  for  a  Canon  of  St.  Paul's  to  go  to 
an  opera;  and  where  etiquette  prevents  me  from  doing 
things  disagreeable  to  myself,  I  am  a  perfect  martinet. 

All  these  things  considered,  I  am  sure  you  will  not  be 
a  Semiramis  to  me,  but  let  me  off. 


181 


XIV 

CHARACTERS 

Mr.  Gabriel  Bullock  offers  his  heart  to  Mrs.  Margaret 
Clark  <^         ^=0         ^>         -^>-         *o         *Cix 

(To  her  I  very  much  respect,  Mrs.  Margaret  Clark) 

LOVELY,  and  oh  that  I  could  write  loving  Mrs. 
Margaret  Clark,  I  pray  you  let  Affection  excuse 
Presumption.  Having  been  so  happy  as  to  enjoy  the 
Sight  of  your  sweet  Countenance  and  comely  Body, 
sometimes  when  I  had  occasion  to  buy  Treacle  or 
Liquorish  Power  at  the  apothecary's  shop,  I  am  so 
enamoured  with  you,  that  I  can  no  more  keep  close  my 
flaming  Desire  to  become  your  Servant.  And  I  am  the 
more  bold  now  to  write  to  your  sweet  self,  because  I  am 
now  my  own  Man,  and  may  match  were  I  please;  for 
my  Father  is  taken  away;  and  now  I  am  come  to  my 
Living,  which  is  ten  yard  Land,  and  a  House ;  and.  there 
is  never  a  Yard  Land  in  our  Field  but  is  as  well  worth 
ten  Pound  a  Year  as  a  Thief's  worth  a  Halter ;  and  all 
my  Brothers  and  Sisters  are  provided  for :  besides  I 
have  good  Household  Stuff,  though  I  say  it,  both  Brass 
and  Pewter,  Linnens  and  Woollens ;  and  though  my 
House  be  thatched,  yet  if  you  and  I  match,  it  shall  go 
182 


Characters 

hard  but  I  will  have  one  half  of  it  slated.  If  you  shall 
think  well  of  this  Motion,  I  will  wait  upon  you  as  soon  as 
my  new  Cloaths  is  made,  and  Hay-Harvest  is  in.  I 
could,  though  I  say  it,  have  good  Matches  in  our  Town ; 
but  my  Mother  (God's  Peace  be  with  her)  charged  me 
upon  her  Death-Bed  to  marry  a  Gentlewoman,  one  who 
had  been  well  trained  up  in  Sowing  and  Cookery.  I  do 
not  think  but  that  if  you  and  I  can  agree  to  marry,  and 
lay  our  Means  together,  I  shall  be  made  grand  Jury-man 
e'er  two  or  three  Years  come  about,  and  that  will  be  a 
great  Credit  to  us.  If  I  could  have  got  a  Messenger  for 
Sixpence,  I  would  have  sent  one  on  Purpose,  and  some 
Trifle  or  other  for  a  Token  of  my  Love ;  but  I  hope 
there  is  nothing  lost  for  that  neither.  So  hoping  you  will 
take  this  Letter  in  good  Part,  and  answer  it  with  what 
Care  and  Speed  you  can,  I  rest  and  remain, 

Yours,  if  my  own,  MR.  GABRIEL  BULLOCK, 

now  my  father  is  dead. 

SWEPSTON,  LEICESTERSHIRE 

When  the  Coal  Carts  come,  I  shall  send  oftener ;  and 
may  come  in  one  of  them  myself. 

Sir  John  Dalrymple  details  his  ill-luck  "O        "O-        "^ 
(To  Admiral  Dalrymple) 

CRANSTON,  January  1,1772 

MY  DEAR   SIR.  —  Your  shirts  are  safe.    I   have 
made  many  attempts  upon  them ;   but  Bess,  who 
has  in  honesty  what  she  wants  in  temper,  keeps  them  in 
safety  for  you. 

183 


The  Second   Post 

You  ask  me  what  I  have  been  doing  ?  To  the  best  of 
my  memory,  what  has  passed  since  I  came  home  is  as 
follows. 

Finding  the  roof  bad,  I  sent  slaters,  at  the  peril  of  their 
necks,  to  repair  it.  They  mended  three  holes,  and  made 
thirty  themselves. 

I  pulled  down  as  many  walls  round  the  house  as 
would  have  fortified  a  town.  This  was  in  summer :  but 
now  that  winter  is  come,  I  would  give  all  the  money  to 
put  them  up  again,  that  it  cost  me  to  take  them  down. 

I  thought  it  would  give  a  magnificent  air  to  the  old 
hall,  to  throw  the  passage  into  it.  After  it  was  done,  I 
went  out  of  town  to  see  how  it  looked.  It  was  night 
when  I  went  into  it ;  the  wind  blew  out  the  candle  fror  i 
the  over-size  of  the  room  ?  upon  which,  I  ordered  the 
partition  to  be  built  up  again,  that  I  might  not  die  of  cold 
in  the  midst  of  summer. 

I  ordered  the  old  timber  to  be  thinned;  to  which, 
perhaps,  the  love  of  lucre  a  little  contributed.  The 
workmen,  for  every  tree  they  cut,  destroyed  three,  by 
letting  them  fall  on  each  other.  I  received  a  momentary 
satisfaction  from  hearing  that  the  carpenter  I  employed 
had  cut  off  his  thumb  in  felling  a  tree.  But  this  pleasure 
was  soon  allayed,  when,  upon  examining  his  measure,  I 
found  that  he  had  measured  false,  and  cheated  me  of 
20  per  cent. 

Instead  of  saddle-horses  I  bought  mares,  and  had  them 
covered  with  an  Arabian.  When  I  went,  some  months 
after,  to  mount  them,  the  groom  told  me,  I  should  kill 
the  foals ;  and  now  I  walk  on  foot,  with  the  stable  full 
of  horses,  unless  when,  with  much  humility,  I  ask  to  be 
admitted  into  the  chaise,  which  is  generally  refused  me. 

Remembering,  with  a  pleasing  complacency,  the 
184 


Characters 

Watcombe  pigs,  I  paid  thirty  shillings  for  a  sow  with 
pig.  My  wife  starved  them.  They  ran  over  to  a  mad- 
man, called  Lord  Adam  Gordon,  who  distrained  them 
for  damage;  and  the  mother,  with  ten  helpless  infants, 
died  of  bad  usage. 

Loving  butter  much,  and  cream  more,  I  bought  two 
Dutch  cows,  and  had  plenty  of  both.  I  made  my  wife  a 
present  of  two  more :  she  learned  the  way  to  market  for 
their  produce  ;  and  I  have  never  got  a  bowl  of  cream  since. 

I  made  a  fine  hay-stack ;  but  quarreled  with  my  wife 
as  to  the  manner  of  drying  the  hay,  and  building  the 
stack.  The  hay-stack  took  fire;  by  which  I  had  the 
double  mortification  of  losing  my  hay,  and  finding  my 
wife  had  more  sense  than  myself. 

I  kept  no  plough ;  for  which  I  thank  my  Maker ; 
because  then  I  must  have  wrote  this  Letter  from  a  gaol. 

I  paid  twenty  pounds  for  a  dunghill,  because  I  was 
told  it  was  a  good  thing ;  and,  now,  I  would  give  any 
body  twenty  shillings  to  tell  me  what  to  do  with  it. 

I  built,  and  stocked  a  pigeon-house;  but  the  cats 
watched  below,  the  hawks  hovered  above ;  and  pigeon- 
soup,  roasted  pigeon,  or  cold  pigeon-pie,  have  I  never 
seen  since. 

I  fell  to  drain  a  piece  of  low  ground  behind  the  house ; 
but  I  hit  upon  the  tail  of  the  rock,  and  drained  the  well 
of  the  house ;  by  which  I  can  get  no  water  for  my  vic- 
tuals. 

I  entered  into  a  great  project  for  selling  lime,  upon  a 
promise  from  one  of  my  own  farmers  to  give  me  land  off 
his  farm.  But  when  I  went  to  take  off  the  ground,  he 
laughed,  said  he  had  choused  the  Lawyer,  and  exposed 
me  to  a  dozen  law-suits  for  breach  of  bargains,  which  I 
could  not  perform. 


The  Second  Post 

I  fattened  black  cattle  and  sheep ;  but  could  not  agree 
with  the  butchers  about  the  price.  From  mere  economy, 
we  ate  them  ourselves,  and  almost  killed  all  the  family 
with  surfeits. 

I  bought  two  score  of  six-year  old  wethers  for  my  own 
table ;  but  a  butcher,  who  rented  one  of  the  fields,  put 
my  mark  upon  his  own  carrion  sheep ;  by  which  I  have 
been  living  upon  carrion  all  the  summer. 

I  brewed  much  beer ;  but  the  small  turned  sour,  and 
the  servants  drank  all  the  strong. 

I  found  a  ghost  in  the  house,  whose  name  was 
M'Alister,  a  pedlar,  that  had  been  killed  in  one  of  the 
rooms  at  the  top  of  the  house  two  centuries  ago.  No 
servant  would  go  on  an  errand  after  the  sun  was  set,  for 
fear  of  M'Alister,  which  obliged  me  to  send  off  one  set  of 
my  servants.  Soon  after  the  housekeeper,  your  old 
friend  Mrs.  Brown,  died,  aged  90 ;  and  then  the  belief 
ran,  that  another  ghost  was  in  the  house,  upon  which 
many  of  the  new  set  of  servants  begged  leave  to  quit  the 
house,  and  got  it. 

In  one  thing  only  I  have  succeeded.  I  have  quarreled 
with  all  my  neighbours ;  so  that,  with  a  dozen  gentlemen's 
seats  in  my  view,  I  stalk  alone  like  a  lion  in  a  desart. 

I  thought  I  should  have  been  happy  with  my  tenants, 
because  I  could  be  insolent  to  them  without  their  being 
insolent  to  me.  But  they  paid  me  no  rent ;  and  in  a  few 
days  I  shall  have  above  one  half  of  the  very  few  friends 
I  have  in  the  country  in  a  prison. 

.Such  being  the  pleasures  of  a  country  life,  I  intend 
to  quit  them  all  in  about  a  month,  to  submit  to  the 
mortification  of  spending  the  spring  in  London,  where, 
I  am  happy  to  hear,  we  are  to  meet.  But  I  am  infinitely 
happier  to  hear  that  Mrs.  Dalrymple  is  doing  so  well. 
186 


Characters 

May  God  preserve  her  long  to  you !  for  she  is  a  fine 
creature. 

Just  when  I  was  going  to  you  last  spring,  I  received  a 
Letter  from  Bess,  that  she  was  dying.  I  put  off  my 
journey  to  Watcombe,  and  almost  killed  myself  with 
posting  to  Scotland,  where  I  found  Madam  in  perfect 
good  health.  —  Yours  always,  my  dear  Jack, 

JOHN  DALRYMPLE 

Sir  Hew  Dalrymple   recommends  Dishington   for  pre- 
ferment       -<Sx  ^y  "^y  <^y          ^y  -<^y 

(To  Sir  Lawrence  Dundas) 

WALZELL,  May  24,  1775 

DEAR  SIR,  —  Having  spent  a  long  life  in  pursuit  of 
pleasure  and  health,  I  am  now  retired  from  the 
world  in  poverty  and  with  the  gout;  so,  joining  with 
Solomon,  that,  "all  is  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit,"  I 
go  to  church  and  say  my  prayers. 

I  assure  you  that  most  of  us  religious  people  reap 
some  little  satisfaction,  in  hoping  that  you  wealthy 
voluptuaries  have  a  fair  chance  of  being  damned  to  all 
eternity;  and  that  Dives  shall  call  out  for  a  drop  of 
water  to  Lazarus,  one  drop  of  which  he  seldom  tasted 
when  he  had  the  twelve  Apostles  in  his  cellar.1 

Now,  sir,  that  doctrine  being  laid  down,  I  wish  to  give 
you,  my  friend,  a  loophole  to  creep  through.  Going  to 
church  last  Sunday,  as  usual,  I  saw  an  unknown  face  in 
the  pulpit,  and  rising  up  to  prayers,  as  others  do  upon 
like  occasions,  I  began  to  look  round  the  church  to  see 

1  Twelve  hogsheads  of  claret. 
I87 


The  Second  Post 

if  there  were  any  pretty  girls  there,  when  my  attention 
was  attracted  by  the  foreign  accent  of  the  parson.  I 
gave  him  my  attention,  and  had  my  devotion  awakened 
by  the  most  pathetic  prayer  I  ever  heard.  This  made 
me  all  attention  to  the  sermon ;  a  finer  discourse  never 
came  from  the  lips  of  a  man.  I  returned  in  the  after- 
noon, and  heard  the  same  preacher  exceed  his  morning 
work  by  the  finest  chain  of  reasoning,  conveyed  by  the 
most  eloquent  expressions.  I  immediately  thought  of 
what  Agrippa  said  to  Paul,  "Almost  thou  persuadest  me 
to  be  a  Christian."  I  sent  to  ask  the  man  of  God  to 
honour  my  roof  and  dine  with  me.  I  asked  him  of  his 
country,  and  what  not ;  I  even  asked  him  if  his  sermons 
were  his  own  composition,  which  he  affirmed  they  were; 
I  assured  him  I  believed  it,  for  never  man  had  spoke  or 
wrote  so  well.  "My  name  is  Dishington,"  said  he.  "I 
am  an  assistant  to  an  old  minister  in  the  Orkneys,  who 
enjoys  a  fruitful  benefice  of  £50  a  year,  out  of  which  I  am 
allowed  £20  for  preaching  and  instructing  1,200  people 
who  live  in  two  separate  Islands ;  out  of  which  I  pay  £1,55. 
to  the  boatman  to  transport  me  from  the  one  to  the  other. 
I  should  be  happy  could  I  continue  in  that  terrestrial 
paradise;  but  we  have  a  great  Lord  who  has  many 
little  people  soliciting  him  for  many  little  things  that 
he  can  do  and  that  he  cannot  do ;  and  if  my  minister 
dies,  his  succession  is  too  great  a  prize  not  to  raise  up 
many  powerful  rivals  to  baulk  my  hope  of  preferment." 
I  asked  him  if  he  possessed  any  other  wealth.  "Yes," 
said  he,  "I  married  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  island;  she 
has  blessed  me  with  three  children,  and  as  we  are  both 
young,  we  may  expect  more.  Besides,  I  am  so  beloved 
in  the  island,  that  I  have  all  my  peats  brought  home 
carriage  free." 

188 


Characters 

This  is  my  story,  —  now  to  the  prayer  of  my  petition. 
I  never  before  envied  you  the  possession  of  the  Orkneys, 
which  I  now  do  only  to  provide  for  this  eloquent  innocent 
apostle. 

The  sun  has  refused  your  barren  isles  his  kindly  in- 
fluence ;  do  not  deprive  them  of  so  pleasant  a  preacher ; 
let  not  so  great  a  treasure  be  forever  lost  to  the  damned 
inhospitable  country ;  for,  I  assure  you,  were  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury  to  hear  him,  or  hear  of  him,  he 
would  not  do  less  than  make  him  an  archdeacon.  The 
man  has  but  one  weakness,  that  of  preferring  the  Orkneys 
to  all  the  earth. 

This  way,  and  no  other,  you  have  a  chance  for  Salva- 
tion. Do  this  man  good,  and  he  will  pray  for  you.  This 
will  be  a  better  purchase  than  your  Irish  Estate,  or 
the  Orkneys.  I  think  it  will  help  me  forward  too, 
since  I  am  the  man  who  told  you  of  the  man  so  worthy 
and  deserving ;  so  pious,  so  eloquent,  and  whose  prayers 
may  do  so  much  good.  —  Till  I  hear  from  you  on  this 
head,  yours,  in  all  meekness,  love  and  benevolence. 

H.  D. 

P.S.  —  Think  what  an  unspeakable  pleasure  it  will  be, 
to  look  down  from  Heaven,  and  see  Rigby,  Masterton, 
all  the  Campbells  and  nabobs,  swimming  in  fire  and 
brimstone,  while  you  are  sitting  with  Whitefield  and  his 
old  women,  looking  beautiful,  frisking  and  singing;  all 
which  you  may  have  by  settling  this  man,  after  the 
death  of  the  present  incumbent. 


189 


The  Second  Post 

A   Welsh   gentleman   obtains   a   situation   for   his   son 
in  the  East  India  House    <^        x^>        ^>        -^ 

(To  the  Honourable  Board  of  Directors  of  the  East  India 
Co.) 

/^ENTLEMEN, —  I  have  a  parcel  of  fine  boys,  but 
^-J  not  much  cash  to  provide  for  them.  I  had  in- 
tended my  eldest  son  for  the  Church,  but  I  find  he  is 
more  likely  to  kick  a  church  down  than  support  it.  I 
sent  him  to  the  University,  but  he  could  not  submit 
himself  to  the  college  rules,  and,  on  being  reproved  by 
his  tutors,  he  took  it  up  in  the  light  of  an  affair  of  honour, 
and  threatened  to  call  them  to  account  for  it.  All  my 
plans  for  his  welfare  being  thus  disconcerted,  I  asked 
him  if  he  had  formed  any  for  himself ;  he  replied,  he 
meant  to  go  to  India.  I  then  inquired  if  he  had  any 
interest,  at  which  question  he  looked  somewhat  foolish, 
and  replied  in  the  negative.  Now,  gentlemen,  I  know 
no  more  of  you  than  you  do  of  me.  I  therefore  may 
appear  to  you  not  much  wiser  than  my  son.  I  can  only 
say  that  he  is  of  Welsh  extraction  for  many  genera- 
tions, and,  as  my  first-born,  I  flatter  myself,  has  not 
degenerated.  He  is  six  feet  high,  of  an  athletic  make, 
and  bold  and  intrepid  as  a  lion.  If  you  like  to  see 
him  I  will  equip  him  as  a  gentleman,  and,  I  am, 
Gentlemen,  etc. 


190 


Characters 

Shelley  (at  school)  prepares  a  firm  of  publishers  for  the 
worst         ^        x^>        ^>        ^y        *o        "^y 

(To  Longman  &  Co.) 

ETON  COLLEGE,  May  7,  1809 

/^ENTLEMEN,  —  It  is  my  intention  to  complete  and 
^-*  publish  a  Romance,  of  which  I  have  already  written 
a  large  portion,  before  the  end  of  July.  My  object  in 
writing  it  was  not  pecuniary,  as  I  am  independent,  being 
the  heir  of  a  gentleman  of  large  fortune  in  the  county 
of  Sussex,  and  prosecuting  my  studies  as  an  Oppidan 
at  Eton ;  from  the  many  leisure  hours  I  have,  I  have 
taken  an  opportunity  of  indulging  my  favourite  propen- 
sity in  writing.  Should  it  produce  any  pecuniary  advan- 
tages, so  much  the  better  forme,!  do  not  expect  it.  If  you 
would  be  so  kind  as  to  answer  this,  direct  it  to  me  at  the 
Rev.  George  Bethell's.  Might  I  likewise  request  the 
favour  of  secrecy  until  the  Romance  is  published. —  I  am, 
your  very  humble  servant,  PERCY  SHELLEY 

Be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  whether  I  shall  send  you  the 
original  manuscript  when  I  have  completed  it  or  one 
corrected,  etc. 

Charles   Dickens    introduces    Professor   Felton    to    the 
great  Dando  "Qv        *^y        x^y        -^y 

LONDON,  July  31,  1842 

MY  DEAR  FELTON,  —  Of  all  the  monstrous  and 
incalculable  amount  of  occupation  that  ever  beset 
one  unfortunate  man,  mine  has  been  the  most  stupendous 
since  I  came  home.     The  dinners  I  have  had  to  eat,  the 
191 


The  Second   Post 

places  I  have  had  to  go  to,  the  letters  I  have  had  to 
answer,  the  sea  of  business  and  of  pleasure  in  which  I 

have  been  plunged,  not  even  the  genius  of  an or  the 

pen  of  a could  describe. 

Wherefore  I  indite  a  monstrously  short  and  wildly  un- 
interesting epistle  to  the  American  Dando ;  but  perhaps 
you  don't  know  who  Dando  was.  He  was  an  oyster- 
eater,  my  dear  Felton.  He  used  to  go  into  oyster-shops, 
without  a  farthing  of  money,  and  stand  at  the  counter 
eating  natives,  until  the  man  who  opened  them  grew  pale, 
cast  down  his  knife,  staggered  backward,  struck  his 
white  forehead  with  his  open  hand,  and  cried,  "You  are 
Dando  ! ! !"  He  has  been  known  to  eat  twenty  dozen  at 
one  sitting,  and  would  have  eaten  forty,  if  the  truth  had 
not  flashed  upon  the  shopkeeper.  For  these  offences  he 
was  constantly  committed  to  the  House  of  Correction. 
During  his  last  imprisonment  he  was  taken  ill,  got  worse 
and  worse,  and  at  last  began  knocking  violent  double 
knocks  at  Death's  door.  The  doctor  stood  beside  his 
bed,  with  his  fingers  on  his  pulse.  "He  is  going,"  says 
the  doctor.  "  I  see  it  in  his  eye.  There  is  only  one  thing 
that  would  keep  life  in  him  for  another  hour,  and  that  is 
—  oysters."  They  were  immediately  brought.  Dando 
swallowed  eight,  and  feebly  took  a  ninth.  He  held  it  in 
his  mouth  and  looked  round  the  bed  strangely.  "Not 
a  bad  one,  is  it  ? "  says  the  doctor.  The  patient  shook 
his  head,  rubbed  his  trembling  hand  upon  his  stomach, 
bolted  the  oyster,  and  fell  back  —  dead.  They  buried 
him  in  the  prison  yard,  and  paved  his  grave  with  oyster 
shells. 

We  are  all  well  and  hearty,  and  have  already  begun 
to  wonder  what  time  next  year  you  and  Mrs.  Felton  and 
Dr.  Howe  will  come  across  the  briny  sea  together.  To- 
192 


Characters 

morrow  we  go  to  the  seaside  for  two  months.  I  am 
looking  out  for  news  of  Longfellow,  and  shall  be  delighted 
when  I  know  that  he  is  on  his  way  to  London  and  this 
house. 

I  am  bent  upon  striking  at  the  piratical  newspapers 
with  the  sharpest  edge  I  can  put  upon  my  small  axe, 
and  hope  in  the  next  session  of  Parliament  to  stop  their 
entrance  into  Canada.  For  the  first  time  within  the 
memory  of  man,  the  professors  of  English  literature  seem 
disposed  to  act  together  on  this  question.  It  is  a  good 
thing  to  aggravate  a  scoundrel,  if  one  can  do  nothing 
else,  and  I  think  we  can  make  them  smart  a  little  in 
this  way.  .  .  . 

I  wish  you  had  been  at  Greenwich  the  other  day,  where 
a  party  of  friends  gave  me  a  private  dinner ;  public  ones 
I  have  refused.  C—  —  was  perfectly  wild  at  the  reunion, 
and,  after  singing  all  manner  of  marine  songs,  wound 
up  the  entertainment  by  coming  home  (six  miles)  in  a 
little  open  phaeton  of  mine,  on  his  head,  to  the  mingled 
delight  and  indignation  of  the  metropolitan  police.  We 
were  very  jovial  indeed ;  and  I  assure  you  that  I  drank 
your  health  with  fearful  vigour  and  energy. 

On  board  that  ship  coming  home  I  established  a  club, 
called  the  United  Vagabonds,  to  the  large  amusement 
of  the  rest  of  the  passengers.  This  holy  brotherhood 
committed  all  kinds  of  absurdities,  and  dined  always, 
with  a  variety  of  solemn  forms,  at  one  end  of  the  table, 
below  the  mast,  away  from  all  the  rest.  The  captain 
being  ill  when  we  were  three  or  four  days  out,  I  produced 
my  medicine  chest  and  recovered  him.  We  had  a  few 
more  sick  men  after  that,  and  I  went  round  "the  wards" 
every  day  in  great  state,  accompanied  by  two  Vagabonds, 
habited  as  Ben  Allen  and  Bob  Sawyer,  bearing  enormous 
o  193 


1  he  Second   Post 

rolls  of  plaster  and  huge  pairs  of  scissors.  We  were 
really  very  merry  ail  the  way,  breakfasted  in  one  party 
at  Liverpool,  shook  hands,  and  parted  most  cordially. 
...  —  Affectionately  your  faithful  Friend. 

P.S.  —  I  have  looked  over  my  journal,  and  have  de- 
cided to  produce  my  American  trip  in  two  volumes.  I 
have  written  about  half  the  first  since  I  came  home,  and 
hope  to  be  out  in  October.  This  is  "exclusive  news,"  to 
be  communicated  to  any  friends  to  whom  you  may  like  to 
intrust  it,  my  dear  F. 


194 


XV 

THE  OLD  LION 

W.  S.  Landor:   extracts  from  his  correspondence       "O 

(To  Southey) 

1810 

TN  architects  I  have  passed  from  a  great  scoundrel 
-I  to  a  greater,  a  thing  I  thought  impossible ;  and  have 
been  a  whole  year  in  making  a  farmhouse  habitable.  It 
is  not  half  finished,  and  has  cost  already  two  thousand 
pounds.  I  think  seriously  of  filling  it  with  chips  and 
straw,  and  setting  fire  to  it.  Never  was  anything  half 
so  ugly,  though  there  is  not  a  brick  or  tile  throughout. 
Again  and  again  I  lament  I  was  disappointed  in  my 
attempt  to  fix  in  your  delightful  country.  The  earth 
contains  no  race  of  human  beings  so  totally  vile  and 
worthless  as  the  Welsh.  ...  I  have  expended  in  labour, 
within  three  years,  eight  thousand  pounds  amongst  them,' 
and  yet  they  treat  me  as  their  greatest  enemy.  .  .  .  When 
I  had  the  happiness  of  meeting  you  in  Bristol,  you 
mentioned  your  design  of  coming  into  Monmouthshire 
this  summer.  I  hope  nothing  will  hinder  it.  Before  two 
months  have  passed,  I  can  give  you  a  comfortable  bed. 
I  have  two  small  rooms  finished,  and  my  kitchen  will  be 
completed  in  six  weeks. 

195 


The  Second   Post 

1811 

JEFFREY  is  called  a  clever  man,  I  hear.  If  so, 
people  may  be  clever  men  without  knowing  the 
nature  of  a  lie,  or  the  distinction  between  virtue  and 
vice.  No  species  of  dishonesty  is  surely  so  unpardon- 
able as  Jeffrey's,  no  profligacy  so  flagitious.  Thievery 
may  arise  from  early  example  or  from  urgent  want.  It 
may  have  grown  into  an  incurable  habit,  or  have  been 
pushed  on  by  the  necessities  of  nature.  A  man  may 
commit  even  murder  itself  from  the  sudden  and  incon- 
trollable  impulse  of  a  heart  still  uncorrupted ;  but  he 
must  possess  one  of  a  very  different  kind  who  can  air 
and  exercise  his  faculties  on  no  other  ground  than  the 
destruction  of  fame  and  the  mortification  of  genius.  I 
was  once  asked  whether  I  would  be  introduced  to  this 
gentleman.  My  reply  was,  No,  nor  to  any  other  rascal 
whatsoever.  I  like  to  speak  plainly,  and  particularly  so 
when  the  oerson  of  whom  I  speak  may  profit  by  it. 

1814 

"T^VERY  hope  of  meeting  you  again  in  England  has 
•*-*  vanished.  Pardon  me  if  this  is  only  the  second  of 
my  wishes.  My  first  is,  that  I  may  become  by  degrees 
indifferent  to  this  country.  The  Court  of  Exchequer  has 
decided  in  my  favour ;  but  B  has  been  able  to  promise 
bail  and  a  replevy,  so  that  the  ends  of  justice  are  de- 
feated. Nearly  three  years'  rent  will  be  due  before  I 
can  receive  one  farthing  from  him ;  and  all  my  timber  is 
spoiled.  I  shall  be  utterly  ruined.  Not  being  able  to 
pay  the  interest  of  io,ooo/.  debt  on  the  Llanthony  estate, 
the  mortgagee  will  instantly  seize  on  it  until  he  has  paid 
himself  the  whole  of  the  principal.  The  laws  of  England 
.196 


The  Old  Lion 

are  made  entirely  for  the  protection  of  guilt.  A  creditor 
could  imprison  me  for  twenty  pounds,  while  a  man  who 
owes  me  two  thousand,  and  keeps  me  from  the  possession 
of  two  thousand  more,  can  convert  wealth  and  affluence 
into  poverty  and  distress,  —  can,  in  short,  drive  me  for 
ever  from  my  native  country,  and  riot  with  impunity  on 
the  ruins  of  my  estate.  I  had  promised  my  mother  to 
visit  her.  I  never  can  hope  to  see  her  again.  She  is 
seventy-two,  and  her  sorrow  at  my  overwhelming  and 
most  unmerited  misfortunes  will  too  surely  shorten  her 
days.  My  wife,  when  she  married,  little  thought  she 
should  leave  all  her  friends  to  live  in  obscurity  and  perhaps 
in  want.  For  my  sake  she  refused  one  of  the  largest 
fortunes  that  any  private  gentleman  possesses,  and 
another  person  of  distinguished  rank.  Whoever  comes 
near  me  is  either  unhappy  or  ungrateful.  There  is  no 
act  of  forbearance  or  of  kindness  which  B  did  not  receive 
from  me.  His  father  saw  and  knew  perfectly  that  his 
farming  must  ruin  him.  Yet,  instead  of  persuading  him 
to  resign  it,  he  sent  the  remainder  of  his  family  to  live 
with  him,  and  to  countenance  him  in  all  his  violence  and 
roguery.  I  go  to-morrow  to  St.  Malo.  In  what  part  of 
France  I  shall  end  my  days,  I  know  not,  but  there  I 
shall  end  them;  and  God  grant  that  I  may  end  them 
speedily,  and  so  as  to  leave  as  little  sorrow  as  possible  to 
my  friends.  No  time  will  alter  my  regard  and  venera- 
tion for  you;  nor  shall  anything  lessen  the  kind 
sentiments  you  entertain  for  me.  It  is  a  great  privilege 
to  hold  the  hearts  of  the  virtuous.  If  men  in  general 
knew  how  great  it  is,  could  they  ever  consent  to  abandon 
it  ?  I  am  alone  here.  My  wife  follows  me  when  I  have 
found  a  place  fit  for  her  reception.  Adieu  ! 


197 


The  Second   Post 

1825 

HIS  first  villany  in  making  me  disappoint  the  person 
with  whom  I  had  agreed  for  the  pictures  instigated 
me  to  throw  my  fourth  volume,  in  its  imperfect  state,  into 
the  fire,  and  has  cost  me  nine-tenths  of  my  fame  as  a 
writer.  His  next  villany  will  entail  perhaps  a  chancery- 
suit  on  my  children,  —  for  at  its  commencement  I  blow 
my  brains  out.  .  .  .  Mr.  Hazlitt,  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt,  Lord 
Dillon,  Mr.  Brown,  and  some  other  authors  of  various 
kinds,  have  been  made  acquainted,  one  from  another, 
with  this  whole  affair;  and  they  speak  of  it  as  a  thing 
unprecedented.  ...  It  is  well  I  did  it  [an  Imaginary 
Conversation]  before  Taylor  had  given  me  a  fresh  proof 
of  his  intolerable  roguery.  This  cures  me  forever,  if  I 
live,  of  writing  what  could  be  published ;  and  I  will  take 
good  care  that  my  son  shall  not  suffer  in  the  same  way. 
Not  a  line  of  any  kind  will  I  leave  behind  me.  My 
children  shall  be  carefully  warned  against  literature.  To 
fence,  to  swim,  to  speak  French,  are  the  most  they  shall 
learn. 

(To  his  Sisters) 

1830 

T)  UT  my  country  now  is  Italy,  where  I  have  a  residence 
-L'  for  life,  and  literally  may  sit  under  my  own  vine 
and  my  own  fig-tree.  I  have  some  thousands  of  the  one 
and  some  scores  of  the  other,  with  myrtles,  pome- 
granates, oranges,  lemons,  gagias,  and  mimosas  in  great 
quantity.  I  intend  to  make  a  garden  not  very  unlike 
yours  at  Warwick ;  but,  alas,  time  is  wanting.  I  may 
live  another  ten  years,  but  do  not  expect  it.  In  a  few 
days,  whenever  the  weather  will  allow  it,  I  have  four 
198 


The  Old   Lion 

mimosas  ready  to  place  round  my  intended  tomb,  and  a 
friend  who  is  coming  to  plant  them. 

1831 

I  MUST  now  give  you  a  description  of  the  place. 
The  front  of  the  house  is  towards  the  north,  looking 
at  the  ancient  town  of  Fiesole,  three  quarters  of  a  mile 
off.  The  hills  of  Fiesole  protect  it  from  the  north  and 
northeast  winds.  The  hall  is  31  ft.  by  22,  and  20  high. 
On  the  right  is  a  drawing-room  22  by  20;  and  through 
it  you  come  to  another  26  by  20.  All  are  20  ft.  high. 
Opposite  the  door  is  another  leading  down  to  the  offices 
on  right  and  left ;  and  between  them  to  a  terrace-walk 
about  a  hundred  yards  long,  overlooking  Valdarno  and 
Yallombrosa,  celebrated  by  Milton.  On  the  right  of  the 
downward  staircase  is  the  upward  staircase  to  the  bed- 
rooms ;  and  on  the  left  are  two  other  rooms  correspond- 
ing with  the  two  drawing-rooms.  Over  the  hall,  which  is 
vaulted,  is  another  room  of  equal  size,  delightfully  cool 
in  summer.  I  have  four  good  bedrooms  upstairs,  13  ft. 
high.  One  smaller  and  two  servants'  bedrooms  over 
these,  io£  ft.  high.  In  the  centre  of  the  house  is  a  high 
turret,  a  dovecote.  The  house  is  60  ft.  high  on  the  terrace 
side,  and  50  on  the  other ;  the  turret  is  18  ft.  above  the  60. 
I  have  two  gardens :  one  with  a  fountain  and  fine  jet-d'eau. 
In  the  two  are  165  large  lemon-trees  and  20  orange- 
trees,  with  two  conservatories  to  keep  them  in,  in  winter. 
The  whole  could  not  be  built  in  these  days  for  io,ooo/. 

I  am  putting  everything  into  good  order  by  degrees; 
in  fact,  I  spend  in  improvements  what  I  used  to  spend  in 
house-rent:  that  is  about  75/.  a  year.  I  have  planted 
200  cypresses,  600  vines,  400  roses,  200  arbutuses,  and 
70  bays,  besides  laurustinas,  etc.  etc.  and  60  fruit-trees 
199 


The  Second   Post 

of  the  best  qualities  from  France.  I  have  not  had  a 
moment's  illness,  since  I  resided  here,  nor  have  the 
children.  My  wife  runs  after  colds ;  it  would  be  strange 
if  she  did  not  take  them ;  but  she  has  taken  none  here ; 
hers  are  all  from  Florence.  I  have  the  best  water,  the 
best  air,  and  the  best  oil  in  the  world.  They  speak 
highly  of  the  wine  too ;  but  here  I  doubt.  In  fact,  I  hate 
wine,  unless  hock  or  claret. 


LANTHONY,  I  am  afraid,  will  never  be  occupied 
"*— '  by  any  one.  I  proposed  to  take  down  the  house, 
and  sell  the  materials ;  for  certainly  neither  I  nor 
Arnold  will  ever  live  there.  I  never  think  of  it  without 
thinking  of  the  ruin  to  which  it  has  brought  me ;  leaving 
me  one  of  the  poorest  Englishmen  in  Florence,  instead 
of  one  of  the  richest. 

(To  Lady  Blessington) 

FLORENCE,  March  14,  1833 

A  GERMAN  tutor  is  coming  to  manage  Afrnold], 
**•  within  a  few  days;  I  can  hardly  bring  him  to 
construe  a  little  Greek  with  me,  and  what  is  worse,  he  is 
not  always  disposed  to  fence  with  me.  I  foresee  he  will 
be  a  wo'rse  dancer  than  I  am  if  possible ;  in  vain  I  tell 
him  what  is  very  true,  that  I  have  suffered  more  from  my 
bad  dancing,  than  from  all  the  other  misfortunes  and 
miseries  of  my  life  put  together.  Not  dancing  well !  I 
never  danced  at  all;  and  how  grievously  has  my  heart 
ached  when  others  were  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  that 
recreation,  which  I  had  no  right  even  to  partake  of. 
Hare  has  lately  bought  a  Raffael  here  for  four  hundred 
200 


The  Old  Lion 

louis.  It  is  a  Raffael,  indeed,  but  a  copy  from  Pietro 
Perugino. 

The  original  is  extant,  and  much  finer  than  the  copy. 
Raffael  was  but  a  boy  when  he  painted  it;  he  and  his 
master  are  the  only  two  painters  that  ever  had  a  perfect 
idea  of  feminine  beauty. 

"Raffael,  when  he  went  to  Rome,  lost  Paradise,  and 
had  only  Eden;"  his  Fornarina,  and  others,  are  fine 
women,  but  not  such  women  as  the  first,  that  God 
made,  or  as  the  one  that  he  chose  to  be  the  idol  of 
half  the  world.  Titian,  less  fortunate  than  Lawrence, 
was  rarely  employed  to  paint  a  beauty ;  those  that  he 
and  Correggio  chose  for  models  had  no  grace  or  loveli- 
ness ;  Leonardo's  are  akin  to  ugliness. 

FLORENCE,  July  16,  1833 

I  FIND  that  Coleridge  has  lost  the  beneficent  friend, 
at  whose  house  he  lived.  George  iv.,  the  vilest 
wretch  in  Europe,  gave  him  £100  a  year,  enough,  in 
London,  to  buy  three  turnips  and  half  an  egg  a  day. 
Those  men  surely  were  the  most  dexterous  of  courtiers, 
who  resolved  to  shew  William  that  his  brother  was  not 
the  vilest,  by  dashing  the  half  egg  and  three  turnips  from 
the  plate  of  Coleridge.  No  such  action  as  this  is 
recorded  of  any  administration  in  the  British  annals,  and 
I  am  convinced  that  there  is  not  a  state  in  Europe,  or 
Asia,  in  which  the  paltriest  minister  of  the  puniest  despot 
would  recommend  it. 

FLORENCE,  February  15,  1834 

THE  book   indeed  is   the  "Book  of  Beauty,"  both 
inside  and  outside.     Nevertheless,  I  must  observe 
that  neither  here  nor  in  any  other  engraving,  do  I  find 
201 


The  Second  Post 

a  resemblance  of  you.  I  do  not  find  the  expression. 
Lawrence  has  not  succeeded  either,  unless  you  have  the 
gift  of  changing  it  almost  totally.  The  last  change  in 
that  case  was  for  the  better  —  but  pray  stay  here. 

I  have  a  little  spite  against  the  frontispiece,  and  am 
resolved  to  prefer  Francesca.  If  I  had  seen  such  a 
person  any  time  towards  the  close  of  the  last  century,  I 
am  afraid  I  should  have  been,  what  some  rogue  called 
me  upon  a  very  different  occasion,  much  later,  matto! 
ma  matto  I  Age  breaks  down  the  prison  in  which  beauty 
has  enthralled  us;  but  I  suspect  there  are  some  of  us, 
like  the  old  fellow  let  loose  from  the  Bastille,  who  would 
gladly  get  in  again  were  it  possible. 

You  are  too  generous  in  praising  me  for  my  admiration 
of  Wordsworth  and  Southey.  This  is  only  a  proof  that 
I  was  not  born  to  be  a  poet.  I  am  not  a  good  hater ;  I 
only  hate  pain  and  trouble.  I  think  I  could  have  hated 
Bonaparte  if  he  had  been  a  gentleman.  Castlereagh 
was  almost  as  mischievous,  and  was  popularly  a  gentle- 
man ;  but  being  an  ignorant  and  weak  creature,  he  es- 
capes from  hatred  without  a  bruise. 

The  Whigs,  I  am  afraid,  are  as  little  choice  of  men  as 
the  Tories  are  of  means.  It  is  among  the  few  felicities 
of  my  life  that  I  never  was  attached  to  a  party  or  a  party 
man.  I  have  always  excused  myself  from  dinners,  that 
I  may  never  meet  one. 

January  13,  1835 

I  HAVE  been  reading  Beckford's  Travels,  and  Vathek. 
The  last  pleases  me  less  than  it  did  forty  years  ago, 
and  yet  the  Arabian  Nights  have  lost  none  of  their 
charms    for    me.     All    the    learned    and    wiseacres    in 
England  cried  out  against  this  wonderful  work,  upon  its 
202 


The  Old  Lion 

first  appearance;  Gray  among  the  rest.  Yet  I  doubt 
whether  any  man,  except  Shakespeare,  has  afforded  so 
much  delight,  if  we  open  our  hearts  to  receive  it.  The 
author  of  the  Arabian  Nights  was  the  greatest  benefactor 
the  East  ever  had,  not  excepting  Mahomet.  How  many 
hours  of  pure  happiness  has  he  bestowed  on  six-and- 
twenty  millions  of  hearers.  Ah1  the  springs  of  the  desert 
have  less  refreshed  the  Arabs  than  those  delightful  tales, 
and  they  cast  their  gems  and  genii  over  our  benighted 
and  foggy  regions. 

B[eckford],  in  his  second  letter,  says,  that  two  or  three  of 
Rosa  da  Tivoli's  landscapes  merit  observation,  and  in  the 
next  he  scorns  P.  Potter.  Now  all  Rosa  da  Tivoli's  works 
are  not  worth  a  blade  of  grass  from  the  hand  of  P.  Potter. 
The  one  was  a  consummate  artist ;  the  other  one  of  the 
coarsest  that  ever  bedaubed  a  canvas.  He  talks  of  "  the 
worst  roads  that  ever  pretended  to  be  made  use  of,"  and 
of  a  dish  of  tea,  without  giving  us  the  ladle  or  the  carv- 
ing knife  for  it.  When  I  read  such  things,  I  rub  my 
eyes,  and  awaken  my  recollections.  I  not  only  fancy  that 
I  am  older  than  I  am  in  reality  (which  is  old  enough,  in 
all  conscience),  but  that  I  have  begun  to  lose  my 
acquaintance  with  our  idiom.  Those  who  desire  to 
write  upon  light  matters  gracefully,  must  read  with 
attention  the  writings  of  Pope,  Lady  M.  W.  Montague, 
and  Lord  Chesterfield  —  three  ladies  of  the  first  water. 

I  am  sorry  you  sent  my  "Examination"  by  a  private 
hand.  I  never  in  my  life  sent  a  note  by  a  private  hand. 
Nothing  affects  me  but  pain  and  disappointment. 
Hannah  More  says,  "There  are  no  evils  in  the  world  but 
sin  and  bile."  They  fall  upon  me  very  unequally.  I 
would  give  a  good  quantity  of  bile  for  a  trifle  of  sin,  and 
yet  my  philosophy  would  induce  me  to  throw  it  aside. 
203 


The  Second   Post 

No  man  ever  began  so  early  to  abolish  hope  and  wishes. 
Happy  he,  who  is  resolved  to  walk  with  Epicurus  on  his 
right  and  Epictetus  on  his  left,  and  to  shut  his  ears  to 
every  other  voice  along  the  road. 

March  16,  1835 

AFTER  a  year  or  more,  I  receive  your  reminiscences 
of    Byron.      Never,    for    the   love   of  God,  send 
anything    again    by    a    Welshman.     I    mean    anything 
literary. 

1836 
T  1  WORDSWORTH,  no  doubt,  has  a  thousand  good 

»  »  reasons  why  there  is  not  a  poet  upon  earth ;  but 
as  there  are  many  who  have  given  me  pleasure,  I  love 
them  for  it;  some  of  them  perhaps  a  little  more  than 
they  deserve.  All  men  are  liable  to  error.  I  particularly, 
who  believe  that  there  may  be  criticism  without  sarcasm, 
and  Christianity  without  deans  and  chapters. 

The  surface  of  Wordsworth's  mind,  the  poetry,  has  a 
good  deal  of  staple  about  it,  and  will  bear  handling ;  but 
the  inner,  the  conversational  and  private,  has  many 
coarse  intractable  dangling  threads,  fit  only  for  the  flock- 
bed  equipage  of  grooms.  I  praised  him  before  I  knew 
more  of  him ;  else  I  never  should :  and  I  might  have 
been  unjust  to  the  better  part  had  I  remarked  the  worse 
sooner.  This  is  a  great  fault,  to  which  we  are  all  liable, 
from  an  erroneous  idea  of  consistency. 

Beside,  there  is  a  little  malice,  I  fear,  at  the  bottom  of 
our  hearts  (men's,  I  mean,  of  course). 

Undated 

WHEN  I  have  once  composed  a  thing,  I  never  care 
what  becomes  of  it.     This,  and  being  grey,  are 
the  only  things  in  which  I  differ  from  what  I  was.     What 
204 


The  Old  Lion 

treasures  I  thought  my  trumpery  some  thirty  or  fourty 
years  ago. 

Do  not  let  Count  D'Orsay  shoot  any  more  little  birds. 
I  never  see  one  fall  but  its  ghost  haunts  me,  and  "thou 
canst  not  say  I  did  it"  is  quite  vain. 

May  21,  1837 

I  HEAR  they  have  been  reviewing  me  in  the  Quarterly. 
I   wonder   where   they   found  their  telescope.     By 
the  account  I  receive  of  it,  it  wants  nothing  but  glasses. 
How  perilous  it  is  to  tread  upon  the  heels  of  truth  ! 

BATH,  January  19,  1838 

THE  best,  however,  that  ever  was  written,  either  in 
Latin  or  any  other  language,  is  attributed  to 
Shenstone.  Vale  (I  forget  who)  Heu  quanto  minus  est 
cum  reliquis  versari,  quam  tui  meminisse  ! 

When  will  any  man  write  anything  worth  this  again  ? 
It  never  comes  into  my  mind  but  it  takes  entire  posses- 
sion of  my  heart,  and  I  am  as  incapable  of  reading  for 
an  hour  after,  as  if  I  had  just  left  Hamlet  or  Othello. 
There  are  single  sentences  in  the  world,  far  out- 
valuing three  or  four  hundred  authors,  all  entire ;  as 
there  have  been  individual  men  out-valuing  whole 
nations;  Washington,  for  instance,  and  Kosciusko,  and 
Hofer,  were  fairly  worth  all  the  other  men  of  their  times ; 
I  mean  that  each  was. 

Your  friend,  Lord  Durham,  must  either  be  a  very 
patriotic  man,  or  a  very  ambitious  one.  I  confess  to 
you,  my  ambition  and  patriotism  united  would  not  induce 
me  to  undertake  what  he  has  undertaken,  for  the 
possession  of  all  America,  North  and  South.  I  am  so 
timid  and  thoughtless  a  creature,  that  I  would  not  have  a 
205 


The  Second   Post 

chilblain  for  a  kingdom.  I  would  not  even  dip  this  pen 
in  ink,  if  it  cost  me  any  exertion,  to  set  obstinate  fools 
rather  more  right  than  they  were  before.  What  are  they  ? 
chaff,  soon  blown  away,  to  make  room  for  other  chaff, 
threshed  on  the  same  floor.  Superstition  and  fraud  must 
be  drawn  out  of  the  ring,  then  men  will  have  fair  play, 
and  fight  for  any  stake  that  suits  them. 

Undated 

MR.  BROWN  accompanied  poor  Keats  on  a  visit  to 
W[ordsworth].  Keats  read  to  him  a  part  of  his 
"Endymion,"  in  which,  I  think  he  told  me,  there  is  a 

"Hymn  to  Pan."  W looked  red,  though  grave ;  and 

said,  at  last,  "A  pretty  piece  of  paganism." 

This  reminds  me  of  Kenyon's  question  to  [Crabb]  Rob- 
inson, —  "Did  you  ever,  you  who  have  travelled  with  him 
for  months  together,  did  you  ever  hear  him  speak  favour- 
ably of  any  author  whatsoever  ?  " 

Robinson's  reply  was,  "He  certainly  is  not  given  to  the 
laudatory." 

He  well  deserves  the  flagellation  I  have  given  him,  for 
his  impudence  in  regard  to  Southey.  But  to  make 
amends,  if  ever  he  writes  five  such  things  as  you  will  find 
at  the  end  of  my  volume,  I  will  give  him  as  many 
hundred  pounds.  I  will  now  publish  nothing  more,  for 
the  remainder  of  my  life. 

December,  1838 

PIETY  is  greatly  on  the  increase  at  Bath,  not  only 
conceited  Evangelism,  but  most  genuine  piety,  and 
among  men  who  certainly  make  no  false  pretentions. 
The  last  time  I  was  at  the  rooms,  I  heard  two  go  through 
the  same  formula  on  the  same  occasion.     They  both  had 
been  waiting  in  the  lobby,  and  they  both  had  been 
206 


The  Old  Lion 

blest  by  having  handed  their  ladies  into  their  carriages. 
One  shuffled  his  shoulders,  and  the  other  dilated  both 
nostrils,  and  each  exclaimed  with  equal  devotion,  "Thank 
God!" 

January  i,  1839 

T    HAVE  this  instant  sent  your  note  to  poor .     I 

-*•  never  was  paid  so  well  for  celebrity.  It  has  made 
him  very  ill.  He  is  now  about  to  publish  a  drama  on  the 
Deluge,  on  which  he  tells  me  he  has  been  engaged  for 
twenty  years.  You  cannot  be  surprised  that  he  is 
grievously  and  hopelessly  afflicted,  having  had  water  on 
his  brain  so  long.  The  threatened  deluge  makes  me 
open  my  prayer-book  to  look  for  the  blessed  words  of  the 
Royal  Psalmist,  and  join  his  Majesty  in  "0  that  I  were 
a  bird!"  a  water  bird  of  course,  wild  goose,  sheldrake, 
gull,  etc.,  in  short,  anything  that  might  possibly  escape 
from  the  interior  of  the  ark,  for  which  (I  fear)  not  a  drop 
of  spirit  has  been  provided. 

January  15,  1839 

T  HAVE  been  in  Berkshire  for  four  days,  on  a  visit  to 
•1  Hare,  who  insisted  on  my  keeping  his  birthday.  He 
is  residing  at  West  Woodhay  House,  built  by  Inigo 
Jones.  It  would  do  passably  well  for  Naples,  better  for 
Timbuctoo.  All  but  my  victuals  were  congealed.  I 
almost  envied  the  bed  of  Procrustes,  so  enormous  was 
mine,  such  a  frozen  sea.  A  company  of  comedians 
might  have  acted  in  it  any  piece  they  chose,  and  there 
would  have  been  ample  room  for  prompter  and  orchestra. 
I  was  ready  to  say  my  prayers  when  I  was  delivered 
from  it. 


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The  Second  Post 

March  7,  1839 

THIS  morning  I  have  taken  back  to  the  circulating 
library  the  last  volume  of  Vidocq.  If  I  had  time, 
or  rather,  if  I  took  any  great  interest  in  two  such  people 
as  the  great  thief  and  the  great  thief-taker,  I  would 
compose  a  parallel,  inch  by  inch,  of  these  two  men.1 
One  of  them  frightened  all  the  good,  the  other  all  the 
bad  —  one  betrayed  all  his  employers,  the  other  all  his 
accomplices  —  one  sacrificed  the  hopeful  to  ambition,  the 
other  the  desperate  to  justice. 

I  doubt  whether  in  seven  years  I  could  form  the 
corollary  more  completely  than  I  have  done  in  the  seventh 
of  a  minute,  but  it  will  require  a  century  to  make  men 
honest  and  wise  enough  to  bear  the  question  "which 
is  best?"  The  whole  race  of  moral  swindlers  and  ring- 
droppers  must  be  taken  up  first.  When  God  has  stripped 
us  all  of  furs  and  flounces,  our  just  proportions  will  be 
discovered  better. 

BATH,  November  17,  1839 

I  COULD  be  well  content  in  solitude  as  deep  as  his. 
Never  were  my  spirits  better  than  in  my  thirtieth 
year,  when  I  wrote  "  Gebir,"  and  did  not  exchange  twelve 
sentences  with  men.  I  lived  among  woods,  which  are  now 
killed  with  copper  works,  and  took  my  walk  over  sandy 
sea-coast  deserts,  then  covered  with  low  roses  and  thou- 
sands of  nameless  flowers  and  plants,  trodden  by  the  naked 
feet  of  the  Welsh  peasantry,  and  trackless. 


DIGBY,  who  became  a  Catholic,  and  Padre  Pagani, 
who  probably  is  the   next  in  learning  to  Digby 
among  the  Catholics,  are  inclined  to  convert  me.    Doubt- 
1  Napoleon,  Vidocq. 
208 


The  Old  Lion 

less  it  is  an  amusement  to  them  to  throw  the  rod  and 
line  over  the  running  stream:  the  trout  laughs  in  his 
sleeves,  and  sidles,  and  shows  all  his  specks.  Alas !  I 
can  no  longer  sing  my  old  version  of  Adeste  Fideles, 
for  want  of  a  chorus  —  "Adeste  Fideles  !  laete  triumph- 
antes  !"  etc. 

A  few  months  ago  I  went  to  occupy  my  former  seat 
in  the  Catholic  Chapel,  where  I  had  once  been  seated 
between  Mrs.  Fitzherbert  and  Helen  Walsh  Porter.  On 
the  wall,  at  the  extremity  of  it,  I  saw  a  marble  tablet. 
I  went  toward  it,  and  there  I  found  the  name  of  my 
oldest  friend,  Mrs.  Ferrers,  and  just  beyond  it  was  her 
daughter's.  I  will  venture  to  say,  and  I  do  it  without 
pride,  I  was  at  that  moment  the  most  religious  and 
devout  man  in  the  whole  chapel.  It  is  true  I  did  not 
hear  the  service,  and  the  music,  which  was  so  mingled 
with  the  affections  as  to  be  lost  among  them :  yet, 
instead  of  wishing  to  be  reminded  of  soft  words  and 
tender  looks,  which  I  went  for,  the  faces  of  old  friends 
rose  up  from  the  grave  before  me,  and  were  far  more 
welcome.  I  waited  until  all  were  gone  out,  and  then  I 
placed  my  brow  against  the  edge  of  the  monument.  Age 
has  its  follies,  you  see,  no  less  than  youth. 

BATH,  December  i,  1839 

ON  Wednesday  last,  I  was  present  at  a  wedding ;  the 
only  one  I  ever  was  at,  excepting  one  other.     There 
was  bride-cake,  and  there  were  verses  in  profusion,  two 
heavy  commodities  !     But  what  an  emblematic  thing  the 
bride-cake  is  !    All  sugar  above,  and  all  lumpiness  below. 
But  may  Heaven  grant  another,  and  far  different  destiny, 
to  my  sweet-tempered,  innocent,  sensible  young  friend, 
p  209 


The  Second  Post 

BATH,  April  i,  1841 

IT  is  beginning  to  rain  again.     What  are  our  bishops 
at  ?    But  their  venison  never  was  fatter. 

No  date 

YOU  cannot  doubt  how  proud  and  happy  I  shall  be  to 
be  your  guest.     If  you  should  not  have  left  London 
in  the  beginning  of  May,  do  not  be  shocked  at  hearing 
that  a  cab  is  come  to  the  door  with  a  fierce  looking  old 
man  in  it. 

BATH,  July  4,  1841 

I  AM  delighted  to  find  how  gloriously  my  friend 
Dickens  has  been  received  at  Edinburgh.  But  the 
Scotchmen  could  not  avoid  ill-placed  criticisms,  and 
oblique  comparisons.  One  blockhead  talked  of  his 
deficiency  in  the  female  character  —  the  very  thing  in 
which  he  and  Shakespeare  most  excel. 

Juliet  herself  may,  for  one  moment,  turn  her  eyes  from 
Romeo  on  little  Nell,  and  Desdemona  take  to  heart  her 
hairbreadth  escapes.  I  dare  not  decide  which  of  these 
three  characters  is  the  most  interesting  and  pathetic. 

BATH,  December  21 

T)ERMIT  me  to  be  quite  vernacular,  and  to  say, 
A  instead  of  the  compliments  of  the  season,  "a  merry 
Christmas!"  How  well  that  sounds  —  there  are  the 
village  bells  in  it. 

BATH,  October  18,  1843 

I  DETEST  the  character  of  Rousseau,  but  I  cannot 
resist  his  eloquence.     He  had  more  of  it,  and  finer 
than  any  man.     Demosthenes'  was  a  contracted  heart; 
and   even   Milton's   was   vitiated  by   the   sourness   of 
theology. 

210 


The  Old  Lion 

BATH,  November  5,  1844 

THE  rheumatism  you  know  (or  rather  I  hope  you  do 
not  know)  always  comes  with  a  heavy  cudgel.  It 
was  caused  by  my  imprudence  in  rising  up  in  my  bed  to 
fix  a  thought  on  paper  —  night  is  not  the  time  to  pin  a 
butterfly  on  a  blank  leaf.  Four  hot  baths  have  now 
almost  buoyed  up  this  monster  from  oppressing  me.  Of 
its  four  legs,  I  feel  only  one  upon  me,  and  indeed  just  the 
extremity  of  the  hoof.  At  Gore  House  I  should  forget  it 
—  there  I  forgot  the  plague  when  I  had  it.  But  Bath  air 
is  the  best  in  the  world.  In  twenty  minutes  we  can  have 
three  climates. 


M 


January  i,  1845 
OST  things  are  real  with  me,  except  realities. 


August  28,  1846 

I  FEEL  I  am  growing  old,  for  want  of  somebody  to 
tell  me  (charming  falsehood)  that  I  am  looking  as 
young  as  ever.    There  is  a  vast  deal  of  vital    air  in 
loving  words. 

January  9,  1849 

I  FEEL  a  great  interest,  a  great  anxiety,  for  the 
welfare  of  Louis  Napoleon.  I  told  him,  if  ever  he 
were  again  in  prison,  I  would  visit  him  there ;  but  never, 
if  he  were  upon  a  throne,  would  I  come  near  him.  He  is 
the  only  man  living  who  would  adorn  one,  but  thrones 
are  my  aversion  and  abhorrence.  France,  I  fear,  can 
exist  in  no  other  condition.  Her  public  men  are  greatly 
more  able  than  ours,  but  they  have  less  integrity.  Every 
Frenchman  is  by  nature  an  intriguer.  It  was  not  always 
so,  to  the  same  extent ;  but  nature  is  modified,  and  even 

211 


The  Second   Post 

changed,  by  circumstances.     Even  garden  statues  take 
their  form  from  clay. 

(To  John  Forster) 

December  21,  1840 

IN  this  weather  nobody  can  be  quite  well.  I  myself, 
an  oddly-mixt  metal  with  a  pretty  large  portion 
of  iron  in  it,  am  sensible  to  the  curse  of  climate.  The 
chief  reason  is,  I  cannot  walk  through  the  snow  and  slop. 
My  body,  and  my  mind  more  especially,  requires  strong 
exercise.  Nothing  can  tire  either,  excepting  dull  people, 
and  they  weary  both  at  once.  The  snow  fell  in  Italy  at 
the  end  of  November,  and  the  weather  was  severe  at 
Florence.  Lately,  from  the  want  of  sun  and  all  things 
cheerful,  my  saddened  and  wearied  mind  has  often 
roosted  on  the  acacias  and  cypresses  I  planted. 
Thoughts  when  they're  weakest  take  the  longest  flights, 
and  tempt  the  wintry  seas  in  darkest  nights.  How  is  it 
that  when  I  am  a  little  melancholy  my  words  are  apt  to 
fall  into  verse?  Joy  has  never  such  an  effect  on  me. 
In  fact,  we  hardly  speak  when  we  meet,  and  are  at  best 
but  bowing  acquaintance. 

1844 

A  HERD  of  clownish  Warwickshire  squires  of  the 
purest  breed,  and  in  no  county  of  England  is  the 
breed  so  pure,  was  resolved  to  celebrate  Shakespeare's 
birthday  at  Stratford-upon-Avon.  I  was  invited :  I 
declined.  I  told  them  he  was  not  only  the  greatest  glory 
of  their  county  but  the  greatest  work  of  God's  creation, 
but  I  should  hardly  testify  my  love  and  veneration  by 
eating  and  drinking,  and  I  had  refused  all  such  invita- 
tions when  I  might  meet  those  who  knew  me,  of  whom 

212 


The  Old  Lion 

in  Warwickshire  there  is  now  scarcely  one.  I  could  not 
help  doubting  whether  any  of  the  party  ever  read  a 
single  page  of  his  writings ;  but  I  entertain  no  doubt 
whatever  that  if  he  were  living  and  had  come  into  the 
party,  they  would  have  butted  him  out.  As  the  rocks 
that  bound  the  sea  are  formed  by  the  smallest  and  most 
inert  insects,  so  celebrity  seems  to  rise  up  from  accretions 
equally  vile  and  worthless.  This  idea  has  occurred  to 
me  many  times  before,  and  may  perhaps  be  found  in 
my  writings ;  but  never  did  it  come  forward  with  so 
luminous  a  stare  as  on  the  present  occasion. 

1856 

I  HAVE  been  cushioning  my  old  head  on  the  pillow 
of  novels.  What  a  delightful  book  is  Bulwer's 
Caxtons  !  I  have  done  him  injustice,  for  I  never  thought 
he  could  have  written  such  pure  Saxon  English  as  may 
be  found  here ;  and  Sterne  himself,  whom  he  has  chosen 
to  imitate  as  to  manner,  is  hardly  better  in  the  way  of 
character.  Esmond,  too,  is  a  novel  that  has  surprised 
me.  Never  could  I  have  believed  that  Thackeray,  great 
as  his  abilities  are,  could  have  written  so  noble  a  story  as 
Esmond.  On  your  recommendation  I  have  since  been 
reading  the  whole  of  Humphrey  Clinker.  It  seems  to 
me  that  I  must  have  read  a  part  of  it  before.  Every 
letter  ends  with  rigmarole,  then  much  in  fashion,  and 
thought  to  be  very  graceful.  By  rigmarole  I  mean  such 
a  termination  as  this:  "It  had  like  to  have  kindled  the 
flames  of  discord  in  the  family  of  yours  always,  etc."  A 
tail  always  curls  round  the  back  of  the  letter-writer,  and 
sticks  to  his  sincerely,  etc.  How  would  Cicero  and  Pliny 
and  Trajan  have  laught  at  this  circumbendibus  !  In  the 
main,  however,  you  are  right  about  the  book.  It  has 
213 


The  Second   Post 

abundant  humour ;  and  how  admirable  are  such  strokes 
as  where  the  jailer's  wife  "wishes  there  was  such  another 
good  soul  in  every  jail  in  England !"...!  must  now 
run  to  Dickens  for  refreshment.  He  is  a  never-failing 
resource ;  and  what  an  astonishing  genius  he  is ! 

1856 

I  HAVE  been  out  of  doors  not  more  than  twice  in 
fifty-nine  days,  a  few  minutes  in  each.     I  think  I 
will  go  and  die  in  Italy,  but  not  in  my  old  home.     It  is 
pleasant  to  see  the  sun  about  one's  death-bed.  .  .  . 

Three  months  hence  I  shall  once  more  purchase  a 
landed  property,  situated  in  the  parish  of  Widcombe, 
and  comprising  by  actual  admeasurement  eight  feet  by 
four,  next  adjoining  the  church-tower  in  said  parish.  No 
magpie  drapery,  no  lead,  no  rascals  in  hatbands,  no 
horses  in  full  feathers  for  me.  Six  old  chairmen  are 
sufficient.  I  thought  once  of  complying  with  your  kind 
wish  that  I  should  lie  at  Tachbrook,  but  I  am  not  worth 
the  carriage  so  far.  And  now  again,  about  dying.  Out 
of  my  hundred  pounds,  when  I  get  it,  I  will  reserve  ten 
for  my  funeral,  with  strict  orders  that  the  sum  may  not 
be  exceeded ;  and  the  gravestone  and  grave  will  amount 
to  nearly  or  quite  ten  more.  As  I  can  live  without 
superfluities,  surely  I  can  die  without  them. 

1856 

I  TAKE  it  uncivil  in  Death  to  invite  and  then  to  balk 
me.    It   was    troublesome   to   walk   back,    when   I 
found  he  would  not  take  me  in.     I  do  hope  and  trust  he 
will  never  play  me  the  same  trick  again.    We  ought 
both  of  us  to  be  graver. 

214 


The  Old  Lion 

Charles  Dickens  to  his  old  friend          *o        *^y        x^ 
(To  Walter  Savage  Landor) 

PARIS,  November  22,  1846 

\70UNG  MAN,  —  I  will  not  go  there  if  I  can  help  it. 
•*•  I  have  not  the  least  confidence  in  the  value  of 
your  introduction  to  the  Devil.  I  can't  help  thinking 
that  it  would  be  of  better  use  "the  other  way,  the  other 
way,"  but  I  won't  try  it  there,  either,  at  present,  if  I  can 
help  it.  Your  godson  says,  is  that  your  duty?  and  he 
begs  me  to  enclose  a  blush  newly  blushed  for  you. 

As  to  writing,  I  have  written  to  you  twenty  times  and 
twenty  more  to  that,  if  you  only  knew  it.  I  have  been 
writing  a  little  Christmas  book,  besides,  expressly  for 
you.  And  if  you  don't  like  it,  I  shall  go  to  the  font  of 
Marylebone  Church  as  soon  as  I  conveniently  can  and 
renounce  you :  I  am  not  to  be  trifled  with.  I  write  from 
Paris.  I  am  getting  up  some  French  steam.  I  intend 
to  proceed  upon  the  longing-for-a-lap-of-blood-at-last 
principle,  and  if  you  do  offend  me,  look  to  it. 

We  are  all  well  and  happy,  and  they  send  loves  to  you 
by  the  bushel.  We  are  in  the  agonies  of  house-hunting. 
The  people  are  frightfully  civil,  and  grotesquely  extor- 
tionate. One  man  (with  a  house  to  let)  told  me 
yesterday  that  he  loved  the  Duke  of  Wellington  like 
a  brother.  The  same  gentleman  wanted  to  hug  me 
round  the  neck  with  one  hand,  and  pick  my  pocket  with 
the  other. 

Don't  be  hard  upon  the  Swiss.  They  are  a  thorn  in 
the  sides  of  European  despots,  and  a  good  wholesome 
people  to  live  near  Jesuit-ridden  kings  on  the  brighter 
side  of  the  mountains.  My  hat  shall  ever  be  ready  to  be 

215 


The  Second  Post 

thrown  up,  and  my  glove  ever  be  ready  to  be  thrown 
down,  for  Switzerland.  If  you  were  the  man  I  took  you 
for,  when  I  took  you  (as  a  godfather)  for  better  and  for 
worse,  you  would  come  to  Paris  and  amaze  the  weak 
walls  of  the  house  I  haven't  found  yet  with  that  steady 
snore  of  yours,  which  I  once  heard  piercing  the  door  of 
your  bedroom  in  Devonshire  Terrace,  reverberating 
along  the  bell  wire  in  the  hall,  so  getting  outside  into 
the  street,  playing  ^Eolian  harps  among  the  area  railings, 
and  going  down  the  New  Road  like  the  blast  of  a 
trumpet. 

I  forgive  you  your  reviling  of  me :  there's  a  shovelful 
of  live  coals  for  your  head  —  does  it  burn?  And  am, 
with  true  affection  —  does  it  burn  now  ?  —  Ever  yours. 

CHARLES  DICKENS 


216 


XVI 

LACONICS 

The  Sailor  and  the  King  *o        *^.        -^        ^> 

(Jack  Skifton  to  Charles  II 

KING  CHARLES,  —  One  of  your  subjects,  the  other 
night,  robbed  me  of  forty  pounds,  for  which  I 
robbed  another  of  the  same  sum,  who  has  inhumanly 
sent  me  to  Newgate,  and  he  swears  I  shall  be  hanged; 
therefore,  for  your  own  sake,  save  my  life,  or  you  will 
lose  one  of  the  best  seamen  in  your  navy. 

JACK  SKIFTON 
(The  Reply) 

TACK  SKIFTON,— For  this  time  I'll  save  thee  from 
.;  the  gallows;  but  if  hereafter  thou  art  guilty  of  the 
like,  by  -  -  I'll  have  thee  hanged,  though  the  best 
seaman  in  my  navy.  —  Thine,  CHARLES  REX 

Anne,  Countess  of  Dorset,  speaks  her  mind  to  Sir 
Joseph  Williamson,  Secretary  of  State  under 
Charles  II  "^  "£>  "^y  "^y  "^  "^ 

R,  —  I  have  been  bullied  by  an  usurper,  I  have  been 
illtreated  by  a  court,  but  I  won't  be  dictated  to  by 
a  subject.    Your  man  shall  not  stand. 

ANN  DORSET,  PEMBROKE  AND  MONTGOMERY 
217 


The  Second   Post 

Garrick  and  his  factotum          ^>        -^y        -v>        *c^y 

(W.  Stone  to  David  Garrick) 

I 

Thursday  noon 

SIR,  —  Mr.  Lacy  turned  me  out  of  the  lobby  yester- 
day, and  behaved  very  ill  to  me  —  I  only  ax'd  for 
my  two  guineas  for  the  last  Bishop,  and  he  swore  I  should 
not  have  a  farthing.  I  cannot  live  upon  air.  I  have  a 
few  Cupids  you  may  have  cheap,  as  they  belong  to  a  poor 
journeyman  shoemaker,  who  I  drink  with  now  and  then. 
—  I  am  your  humble  Servant,  W.  STONE 

II 

Friday  morning 

STONE,  —  You  are  the  best  fellow  in  the  world  — 
bring  the  Cupids  to  the  Theatre  to-morrow ;  if  they 
are  under  six,  and  well  made,  you  shall  have  a  guinea 
a-piece  for  them.  Mr.  Lacy  will  pay  you  himself  for  the 
Bishop  —  he  is  very  penitent  for  what  he  has  done :  if  you 
can  get  me  two  murderers,  I  will  pay  you  handsomely, 
particularly  the  spouting  fellow  who  keeps  the  apple- 
stand  on  Tower-hill ;  the  cut  in  his  face  is  just  the  thing. 
Pick  me  up  an  alderman  or  two  for  Richard,  if  you  can ; 
and  I  have  no  objection  to  treat  with  you  for  a  comely 
Mayor.  The  Barber  will  not  do  for  Brutus,  although  I 
think  he  will  succeed  in  Mat.  D.  G. 

Ill 

SIR,  —  The  Bishop  of  Winchester  is  getting  drunk  at 
the  Bear  —  and  swears  he  will  not  play  to-night.  — 
I  am  yours,  W.  STONE 

218 


Laconics 


IV 

STONE,  —  The  Bishop  may  go  to  the  devil ;  I  do  not 
know  a  greater  rascal,  except  yourself.         D.  G. 


Captain  Walton  wastes  no  words          <^>        <^y        *cy 
(To  Admiral  Byng) 

SIR,  —  We  have  taken  and  destroyed  all  the  Spanish 
ships  and  vessels  which  were  upon  the  coast,  the 
number  as  per  margin.  —  I  am,  etc.,  G.  WALTON 

Taken.  —  Admiral  Mari,  and  four  men  of  war,  of  60, 
54,  40,  and  24  guns ;  a  ship  laden  with  arms,  and  a  bomb 
vessel.  Burnt.  —  Four  men  of  war,  of  54,  40,  and  30 
guns ;  a  fire  ship,  and  a  bomb  vessel. 

"Canterbury"  off  Syracusa,  August  16,  1718 


William  Cowper  acknowledges  a  gift  of  cloth  -to        "^y 
(To  Lady  Hesketh) 

I  THANK  you  for  the  snip  of  cloth,  commonly  called 
a  pattern.     At  present  I  have  two  coats  and  but  one 
back.     If  at  any  time  hereafter  I  should  find  myself 
possessed  of  fewer  coats  and  more  backs,  it  will  be  of 
use  to  me. 

219 


The  Second   Post 
The  loans  that  failed    ^y        -Qy        *o        -Qy        *Cv 

I 
Mrs.  Foote  to  her  son  the  actor 

DEAR  SON,  —  I  am  in  prison  for  debt ;    come  and 
assist  your  loving  mother.  E.  FOOTE 

The  Reply 

DEAR  MOTHER,  —  So  am  I ;   which  prevents  his 
duty    being  paid  to    his    loving    mother.  —  Your 
affectionate  son,  SAMUEL  FOOTE 

P.S.  —  I  have  sent  my  attorney  to  assist  you ;   in  the 
meantime  let  us  hope  for  better  days. 

II 

Beau  Brummel  to  Scrope  Davies 

MY    DEAR    SCROPE, —  Lend  me    two    hundred 
pounds.     The  banks  are  shut  and  all  my  money 
is  in  the  three  per  cents.     It  shall  be  repaid  to-morrow 
morning.  —  Yours,  GEORGE  BRUMMEL 

The  Reply 

MY  DEAR  GEORGE,  —  'Tis  very  unfortunate,  but 
all  my  money  is  in  the  three  per  cents.  —  Yours, 

S.  DAVIES 
220 


Laconics 
III 

One  provincial  actor  to  another 

DEAR  W.,  —  Lend    me  a  couple  of  shillings  until 
Saturday,  and  oblige.  —  Yours, 

P.S.  —  On  second  thoughts,  make  it  three. 

The  Reply 

DEAR  JACK,  —  I  have  only  one  shilling  myself,  or 
would  oblige.  —  Yours, 

P.S.  —  On  second  thoughts,  I  must  change  that  for 
dinner. 


Charles  Napier  ("Black  Charles")  asks  for  a  ship        <^y 

(To  the  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty) 

1810 

SIR,  —  My  leave  of  absence  is  just  out.     I  don't  think 
it  worth  remaining  here,  for  I  expect  you  will  give 
me  a  ship,  as  I  am  almost  tired  of  campaigning,  which 
is  a  damned  rum  concern.  C.  N. 

The  candidate  and  the  voter    ^*         ^>        •<£>        -^x 

Mr.  J.  G.  Lambton,  contesting  Durham,  to  Sir  Thomas 
Liddell 

February  28,  1820 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  In  times  like  the  present,  it  is 
impossible  to  allow  private  feelings  to  take  place 
of  a  public  sense  of  duty.     I  think  your  conduct  as 
221 


The  Second   Post 

dangerous  in  Parliament  as  it  is  in  your  own  county. 
Were  you  my  own  brother,  therefore,  I  could  not  give  you 
my  support.  THOMAS  LIDDELL 

The  Reply 

MY  DEAR   SIR  THOMAS,  —  In  answer  to  your 
letter,  I  beg  to  say  that  I  feel  gratitude  for  your 
frankness,  compassion  for  your  fears,  little  dread  of  your 
opposition,  and  no  want  of  your  support.  —  I  am,  etc., 

J.  G.  LAMBTON 

The  Rev.   Sydney  Smith  accepts  an  invitation  condi- 
tionally     -o>        ^>        *^y        ^>        ^>        ^^ 

May  14,  1842 

MY  DEAR  DICKENS, —  I  accept  your  obliging 
invitation  conditionally.  If  I  am  invited  by  any 
man  of  greater  genius  than  yourself,  or  one  by  whose 
works  I  have  been  more  completely  interested,  I  will 
repudiate  you,  and  dine  with  the  more  splendid  phe- 
nomenon of  the  two.  —  Ever  yours  sincerely, 

SYDNEY  SMITH 

Walter  Savage  Landor  to  Lord  Normanby,  who  had 
cut  him     *o        -^x        ^^        <^-        *o        x^ 

[circa  1858] 

MY  LORD,  — Now  I  am  recovering  from  an  illness 
of  several  months'  duration,  aggravated  no  little 
by  your  lordship's  rude  reception  of  me  at  the  Cascine,  in 

222 


Laconics 

presence  of  my  family  and  innumerable  Florentines,  I 
must  remind  you  in  the  gentlest  terms  of  the  occur- 
rence. 

We  are  both  of  us  old  men,  my  lord,  and  are  verging  on 
decrepitude  and  imbecility.  Else  my  note  might  be  more 
energetic.  I  am  not  unobservant  of  distinctions.  You 
by  the  favour  of  a  minister  are  Marquis  of  Normanby, 
I  by  the  grace  of  God  am 

WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR 


Louis   Duchosal,    the   Genevese   poet,   writes   to   Paul 
Verlaine  introducing  a  disciple      -«o        <iy        -o> 


A 


MI,  —  Je  t'envoie  Pierre  Paul  Plan,  poete.     Dis  lui 
des  choses,  DUCHOSAL 


An  old  lady  sends  her  nephew  a  present  "v>        "Cy 

MY  DEAR  NEPHEW,  —  I  am  sending  you  some  of 
your   favourite   cherries,  preserved   in  brandy  so 
that  they  may  keep.     I  hope  you  and  your  friends  will 
enjoy  them.  —  Your  affectionate  aunt. 


The  Reply 

MY  DEAR  AUNT,  —  A  thousand  thanks  for  your 
kind  gift.     I   appreciate  the  cherries  immensely, 
not  so  much  for  themselves,  as  for  the  spirit  in  which 
they  are  sent.  —  Your  affectionate  nephew. 


223 


The  Second   Post 

Master    George    Wells,    after    an    operation,    informs 
Master   Frank   Wells   of   his   duty         ^>         *o 

DEAR   FRANK, —  I  hope   you  will  not  think  me 
selfish,  but  I  am  in  such  great  pain  that  I  think 
you  ought  to  get  me  a  small  present.  —  Your  loving 

GEORGE 

A    commercial    traveller,    after    a    boisterous  absence 
from  work,  inquires  as  to  his  status  -<^>        xc> 

T^EAR  FIRM,  am  I  still  with  you? 


224 


XVII 
WHIMSICALITIES 

A  farmer's  daughter  is  forced  to  decline 


DEAR  MISS,  —  The  energy  of  the  races  prompts 
me  to  assure  you  that  my  request  is  forbidden, 
the  idea  of  which  I  had  awkwardly  nourished,  notwith- 
standing my  propensity  to  reserve.  Mr.  T.  will  be  there. 
Let  me  with  confidence  assure  you  that  him  and  brothers 
will  be  very  happy  to  meet  you  and  brothers.  Us  girls 
cannot  go  for  reasons.  The  attention  of  the  cows  claims 
our  assistance  in  the  evening.  —  Unalterably  yours, 


A    Quaker    schoolboy    (aged    13)    is    dutiful    to    his 
parents      -cv        <^y        ^Qv        <^y        <^v        "O 

GODMANCHESTER,  14:  II  M°.  1743 

TTONOURED  MOTHER, —  Thy  very  kind  Epistle 
•*-  •*•  of  the  yth  instant,  with  the  Present  of  Pyes  and 
Cakes,  I  duly  and  safely  received  and  gratefully  acknow- 
ledge, was  much  pleased  to  hear  you  were  in  a  Measure 
of  health,  a  good  Degree  whereof  divine  providence  is 
Q  225 


The  Second  Post 

favouring  my  Self  and  the  generality  of  our  Family 
with  at  this  present  writing,  and  heartily  desire  may  be 
continued  to  you  and  us  with  dear  Father  in  his  Travels 
and  Return  home  to  you  again.  With  the  cordial  Tenders 
of  Duty  to  thy  Self  and  dear  Father,  of  kind  Love  to 
Sisters  with  all  other  Relations  and  enquiring  Friends 
to  all  whom  Master  and  family  desire  to  be  kindly 
remembered  Shall  conclude  and  as  in  Duty  bound 
subscribe  my  Self.  —  Thy  dutiful  Son, 

WILLIAM  IMPEY 

Miss  Pelham's  maid,  Mrs.  Maxwell,  has  to  refuse  an 
invitation  -c>         ^o        ^y        ^>        ^> 

MRS.  MAXWELL  presents  her  respects  to  Mrs. 
Stanley.  She  is  at  once  both  happy  and  uneasy 
at  her  kind  remembrance.  She  is  very  sorry  she  cannot 
wait  on  Mrs.  Stanley  at  that  hour,  as  Miss  Pelham  dresses 
for  both  Courts  that  morning,  returns  home  and  dresses 
again  for  the  Opera  in  the  Evening,  so  that  she  shall  be 
obliged  to  forego  the  mortification  of  that  satisfaction. 
She  wishes  Mrs.  Stanley  every  pleasure  the  Opera  can 
afford,  and  setting  apart  such  transient  joys  every  sub- 
stantial bliss  you  merit. 

Lord  Stormont  and  Sir  James  Scarlett  crave  the  social 
influence  of  the  ladies  of  Norwich  ^>        *o        x^ 

[1832] 

THE   LADIES   OF  NORWICH,  —  "  None  but 
the  brave  deserve  the  fair."  —  If  ever  the  sweets  of 
social  virtue,  the  wrath  of  honest  zeal,  the  earnings  of 
226 


Whimsicalities 

industry,  and  the  prosperity  of  Trade,  had  any  influence 
in  the  female  breast,  you  have  now  a  happy  opportunity 
of  exercising  it  to  the  advantage  of  your  country  —  your 
cause. 

If  ever  the  feelings  of  a  parent,  wife,  sister,  friend, 
or  lover,  had  a  sympathy  with  public  virtue,  now  is  your 
time  to  indulge  the  fonder  passion.  If  ever  you  felt  for 
the  ruin  and  disgrace  of  England,  and  for  the  miseries  and 
deprivations  occasioned  by  the  obnoxious  Reform  Bill, 
you  are  called  on,  by  the  most  tender  and  affectionate  tie 
in  nature,  to  exert  your  persuasive  influence  on  the  mind 
of  a  father,  brother,  husband,  or  lover :  tell  them  not  to 
seek  filial  duty,  congenial  regard,  matrimonial  comfort, 
nor  tender  compliance,  till  they  have  saved  your  country 
from  perdition  —  posterity  from  slavery  I  History  fur- 
nishes us  with  instances  of  female  patriotism  equal 
to  any  in  the  page  of  war  and  politics.  O !  may  the 
generous  and  beatific  charms  of  female  persuasion  prevail 
with  the  citizens  of  Norwich,  to  espouse  the  cause  of  real 
liberty  —  of  STORMONT  AND  SCARLETT 


The  Six  Misses  Montgomerie  (daughters  of  the  Earl 
of  Eglinton)  ask  a  boon  of  Lord  Milton    -^        *o 

THE  Petition  of  the  Six  Vestal  Virgins  of  Eglinton  to 
the  Honourable  Lord  Milton. 

Humbly  sheweth  —  that  whereas  your  petitioners  has 
taken  upon  them  to  solicite  in  behalf  of  Alexander 
Aickenhead,  part  of  whose  storie  your  Lordship  knows 
already.  His  new  misfortune  is,  that  after  he  had 
received  sentence  of  banishment  for  three  years  out  of 
this  regality,  he  was  unhappily  seduced  by  his  principal 
227 


The  Second  Post 

creditors  to  come  privetly  to  his  own  house  to  compound 
some  debts,  but  was  not  an  hour  there  before  the 
malitious  neighbourhood  inform'd  against  him,  and  had 
him  unexpectedly  apprehended  and  carried  to  Irvine 
gaol;  So  we  being  importun'd  by  his  wife  (who  is 
.extremely  handsome),  join'd  with  our  own  inclinations 
to  serve  the  poor  man,  we're  in  hopes  that  these  two 
motives  will  have  some  ascendant  over  your  lordship's 
natural  disposition  to  relieve  the  distress'd ;  and  to  excite 
you  still  further  to  this  good  action,  his  wife,  as  the  only 
acceptible  reward  she  thinks  she  can  make  for  this  piece 
of  humanity  she  hopes  from  your  lordship  in  favour  of 
her  husband's  liberty,  she  protests  you  shall  have  as 
many  kisses  as  you  please  to  demand  (and  we  likewise 
bind  and  oblige  ourselves  to  do  the  same,  when  your 
lordship  makes  your  publick  entrie  here  in  May) ;  but 
we  once  more  beg  you'll  use  your  interest  to  get  the  man 
out  of  prison,  which  you'll  do  a  particular  good  to  his 
family  and  an  infinite  obligation  to  your  pupils,  whose 
ambition's  to  subscribe  themselves.  —  Your  lordship's 
most  affectionate  children, 

BETTIE  MONTGOMERIE 
ELEANOR  MONTGOMERIE 
SUSANNA  MONTGOMERIE 
MARY  MONTGOMERIE 
FRANCES  MONTGOMERIE 
CHRISTIAN  MONTGOMERIE 

P.S.  —  We'll  esteem  it  a  favour  if  your  lordship  will 
honour  us  with  an  answer.  But  for  heaven's  sake  re- 
member that  the  wife  is  hansom. 


228 


Whimsicalities 

A  gentle  lady  puts  a  firm  to  the  pain  of  selling   her 
something  -v>        *o        "^        ^y        -*^y 


ENTLEMEN,  —  Will  you,  of  your  kindness,  pardon 
the  liberty  I  take  in  venturing  to  trouble  you  with 
a  small  request,  being  a  stranger  to  you.  But  my  sister, 
Mrs.  Avenell,  lately  residing  at  Bellevue,  Medina  Road, 
Brightburne,  intimated  to  me  that  you  would  very  likely 
be  so  good  as  not  to  object  to  my  requesting  a  small 
favour  from  you,  and  I  have  ventured  to  ask  in  that  be- 
lief. If,  therefore,  I  am  not  presuming  too  much,  might  I 
ask  the  kind  favour  of  a  black  velvet-spotted  veil  being 
sent  to  me  ?  The  pattern  I  venture  to  enclose  is  from  a 
veil  my  sister  sent  me  from  your  establishment,  and  it  is  so 
superior  to  those  I  obtain  here,  in  softness  and  thickness 
of  the  spots,  that  I  should  much  like  another,  as  near  to 
it  as  convenient.  I  think  the  one  yard  and  a  little  more 
came  to  about  one  and  sixpence.  It  is  the  soft  quality 
which  I  like,  combined  with  the  close  thick  spots. 

I  will,  if  you  are  so  good  as  to  entertain  my  request, 
send  postal  order  previously  to  the  receipt  of  the  parcel. 

Awaiting  your  kind  reply,  with  many  apologies  if  I  have 
troubled  you  inconveniently,  Believe  me  to  be,  Gentle- 
men, Yours  respectfully, 

A  true  Protestant  objects  to  "Wolsey"  underwear      *^y 

January  8,  1908 

DEAR  SIRS,  —  I  am  sorry  to  return  the  Drawers, 
which  are  a  trifle  too  small  round  the  waist. 
At  the  expense  of  being  considered  bigoted,  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  I  do  not  like  the  Brand,  although  the  material 
is  excellent  in  quality. 

229 


The  Second   Post 

The  man  whose  likeness  appears,  "WOLSEY,"  was 
one  under  whom  poor  Protestants  writhed,  and  although 
you  may  say  this  is  a  small  matter  and  of  no  importance, 
it  indicates  the  Firm  at  least  allowing  such  to  go  forth  in 
.these  critical  times  is  at  least  careless,  if  not  genuine 
Roman  Catholics,  and  a  Feather  will  indicate  which  way 
the  wind  blows. 

Again  the  buttons  would  be  far  better  of  linen  instead 
of  pearl.  Please  to  send  me  others.  —  Believe  me,  Yours 
faithfully, 

A  belligerent  changes  his  mind    ^y       o-       *^y       -Qy 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  write  to  tell  you  that  I  shall  not  take 
the  remaining  ten  of  my  dozen  boxing  lessons  with 
you.     My  reason  for  taking  your  course  was,  as  I  told 
you,  because  I  have  been  promised  a  thrashing  by  Mr. 
—  when  he  catches  me.     I  have  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  I  would  rather  have  his  than  yours.    I  cannot  thank 
you  for  the  pains  you  have  taken,  because  I  did  all  the 
taking,  didn't  I  ?  —  Yours, 

A   Chinese   editor   is   under   the   painful   necessity   of 
refusing  a  contribution      ^>        "s^y        •<s>        ^x 

ILLUSTRIOUS  brother  of  the  sun  and  moon  — Be- 
J-  hold  thy  servant  prostrate  before  thy  feet.  I  kow- 
tow to  thee  and  beg  that  of  thy  graciousness  thou  mayest 
grant  that  I  may  speak  and  live.  Thy  honoured  manu- 
script has  deigned  to  cast  the  light  of  its  august  counte- 
nance upon  me.  With  raptures  I  have  perused  it.  By  the 
bones  of  my  ancestors,  never  have  I  encountered  such  wit, 
such  pathos,  such  lofty  thought.  With  fear  and  trem- 
230 


Whimsicalities 

bling  I  return  the  writing.  Were  I  to  publish  the  treasure 
you  sent  me,  the  Emperor  would  order  that  it  should  be 
made  the  standard,  and  that  none  be  published  except 
such  as  equalled  it.  Knowing  literature  as  I  do,  and  that 
it  would  be  impossible  in  ten  thousand  years  to  equal  what 
you  have  done,  I  send  your  writing  back.  Ten  thousand 
times  I  crave  your  pardon.  Behold  my  head  is  at  your 
feet.  Do  what  you  will.  —  Your  servant's  servant, 

THE  EDITOR 

A  great  Victorian  is  beset  by  a  poor  artist       ^>        -<^y 

Augitst  9 

MR.  FRITH  having  given  me  ten  shillings  altogether, 
if  he  would  give  me  half-sovereign  it  would 
make  me  proud.  I  would  withdraw  any  request  which 
might  not  meet  Mr.  Frith's  intentions ;  there  fore,  at  the 
outside,  would  ask  Mr.  Frith  to  give  me  ten  shillings,  and 
I  would  not  repeat  any  requests  for  twelve  months,  not 
asking  Mr.  Frith  for  money  at  a  larger  scale  than  one 
pound  a  year.  A  half-sovereign  would  purchase  a  good 
deal  of  bread  for  a  short  time.  Insufficient  supply  of 
bread,  and  no  butter  is  what  I  com  plain  of.  Two  great 
hungry  boys  and  three  girls.  I  am  only  desirous  of 
getting  the  drawing  and  painting  in  motion,  as  may  be 
seen  from  a  note-book  which  I  have  in  my  pocket,  which 
contains  a  pen-and-ink  sketch  of  Her  Majesty  the  Queen, 
that,  carved  with  effect,  would  be  a  group  of  the  royal 
family. 

A  long  time  back  I  inquired  as  to  how  I  might  get  an 
interview  with  the  Prince  of  Wales.     I  was  told  to  write 
to  Fisher  the  Secretary,  but  he  was  not  in  town.    This 
231 


The  Second  Post 

was  three  years  back.  I  thought  his  royal  highness 
might  give  me  a  regular  income  if  he  thought  I  was 
capable  of  holding  the  post  of  painter  in  ordinary.  Such 
an  office  David  Wilkie  held.  David  Wilkie  was  a 
bachelor,  and  had  no  interruptions  to  his  pursuits.  I 
thought  it  not  safe  to  have  anything  sent  to  me  to  the 

B post  office,  because  I  suspected  that  it  might  be 

stolen  —  I  am  very  suspicious.  I  think  there  is  tempta- 
tion to  purloin  when  they  think  the  party  addressed  is  an 
easy  person  not  likely  to  kick  up  a  row.  Some  of  these 
postmasters  have  known  vicissitudes,  and  unless  a  man 
has  the  highest  principles,  could  not  resist  the  temptation. 
I  had  not  pluck  to  call  upon  the  people  to  ask  them  for 
money  —  not  as  yet.  I  pass  and  repass  their  houses 
without  having  pluck  to  call  and  ask  for  anything,  caused 

partly  by  a  rebuff  I  received  from  Mr.  C.  of  B ,  for  he 

said,  "Cut  it  short"  (my  message);  and  added  in  my 
hearing,  not  to  me,  but  to  the  servant,  "Tell  him  I  have 
enough  to  do  with  my  own  people." 

If  Mr.  Frith  sent  me  the  money,  would  he  please  to 
put  it  in  a  cut  card  by  registered  letter?  The  reason  I 
make  the  application  is  this :  I  dreamt  that  Mr.  Frith,  or 
some  one,  sent  me  that  amount ;  perhaps  he  would  make 
the  said  dream  come  true. 

Mr.  Frith  might  take  it  into  his  head  to  send  me  one 
pound  once  in  twelve  months,  either  in  four  or  two  parts, 
or  at  once,  I  promising  not  to  tease  Mr.  Frith  until  Sep- 
tember 1870.  Perhaps  by  that  time  my  position  might 
be  considerably  altered  as  regards  pecuniary  difficulties. 

Perhaps  this  is  the  last  note  for  twelve  months  at 
least  I  shall  trouble  you  with.  What's  the  good  of 
wasting  paper  and  one's  time  for  nothing  ?  —  I  am  yours 
respectfully, 

232 


Whimsicalities 

Mr.  Kenwood  asks  a  variety  of  assistance  of  the  Rev. 
A.  Blomfield          ^>        *o        *o        *^>-        ^> 

10  BUTTER  STREET,  BETHNAL  GREEN 
February  2,  1866 

REV.  AND  DEAR  SIR, —  I  regret  to  inform  you 
that  I  am  ill  from  grief,  having  grieved  at  your 
Departure,  sustaining  thereby  a  heavy  loss,  as  you  were 
a  kind,  and  one  of  my  best  customers  for  wine,  etc.,  you 
having  taken  of  me  ever  since  the  early  part  '64,  you 
having  kindly  given  me  a  Testimonial  respecting  the 
Pale  Sherry  and  Brandy  dated  April  1864.  I  shall  be 
deeply  grateful,  nay  I  humbly  Pray  that  you  may  be 
graciously  pleased  to  listen  to  my  cry,  and  grant  my 
Petition,  namely  that  you  should  kindly  give  me  an  order 
that  I  may  live  and  not  die,  and  a  mine  of  gratitude, 
Dear  Sir,  shall  be  sprung,  which  Death  alone  can 
exhaust. 

I  pray  that  my  necessity  may  be  a  sufficient  apology 
for  this  Intrusion,  and  that  my  extremity  may  be  God's 
opportunity,  through  your  Instrumentality,  and  to 
Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost  all  praise  and  glory  shall 
redound.  —  I  beg  to  remain,  Yours  faithfully  till  death, 
most  humbly  imploring  a  line,  C.  W.  HENWOOD 

P.S.  —  I  shall  be  happy  to  come  and  clean  your 
windows  for  you  outside  for  nothing,  should  you  please, 
having  done  them  for  the  Rev.  J.  Strickland  M.A.  of  St. 
Jude's  Whitechapel.  I  have  also  had  the  honour  to 
serve  with  Brandy  the  Rev.  Francis  Blomfield  M.A. 

P.S.  —  Dear  Sir,  I  am  at  present  in  a  most  wretched 
and  Deplorable  state  of  mind ;  the  Tempter  as  tempted 

233 


The  Second   Post 

me,  life  seems  a  blank  to  me.  Oh  if  you  could  but 
know  how  unhappy  I  am,  I  am  sure  you  would  pity  and 
help  me.  I  have  struggled  against  adversity;  I  ask  an 
interest  in  your  Prayers.  Probably  you  may  be  able  to 
give  me  an  order  for  a  gallon  of  Brandy. 

(Written  on  the  envelope) 

DEAR   SIR,   whenever  the  word  Beaujolais  is  men- 
tioned I  shall  always  think  of  you. 

An  old  Irish  farmer  desires  the  custom  of  an  honour- 
able solvent  butter-merchant         •<v>        ^y        *Qy 


TDERMIT  me  to  say  that  the  butter  produced  from  off 
-*-  of  the  fertile  Lands  and  the  Daisy  Clad  hillocks  of 
this  Romantic  Parish  and  having  it  manufactured  by  the 
Lilly  white  hands  of  an  Amiable  Excellent  Lady  that  it 
must  be  of  Incomparable  Excellence  sufficient  to  give 
delectation  to  the  Taste  and  Olfactory  Nerve  of  the 
Honorable  and  Exquisite  Epicures.  Permit  me  to  solicit 
your  honor  to  Exhibit  this  test  firkin  of  Butter  in  your 
Superb  Establishment  as  a  paragon  of  Taste  and  Pulcri- 
tude,  proving  itself  to  be  far  sweeter  and  more  mellifluent 
than  the  Remarkable  dews  that  fell  in  the  days  of  Yore 
on  the  mountains  of  Sion. 

II 

HONBLB  SIR,  —  The  many  acts  of  dignified  Gener- 
osity which  have  characterized  your   honor  thro' 
life,  the  tender,  Just,  and  Feeling  disposition  your  Honor 

234 


"Whimsicalities 

has  Evinced  thro'  Life  in  all  Communications  addressed  to 
your  Honor,  and  the  Natural  Tendency  to  promote  and 
Effect  the  Goodness  and  Kindness  which  predominates 
Triumphantly  in  your  honor's  Noble,  pure,  and  Exalted 
bosom,  prompted  me,  a  Venerable  Ballyhildrum  Farmer 
to  address  your  Honor,  hoping  that  my  appeal  will  not  be 
Frustrated  but  will  meet  with  your  Honor's  approval  and 
Kind  Consideration. 

Ill 

HONBLK  SIR,  — I  Received  your  Honor's  Kind, 
and  Complimentary  letter  which  has  Excited 
my  spirits,  to  an  unlimited  state  of  Ecstasy  which  I 
return  your  Honor  my  Sincere  and  unfeigned  thanks  for 
Giving  your  Honor's  orders  to  the  Clanmally  Butter 
Factory  at  my  request,  for  one  firkin  of  Butter  as  a  Test 
firkin,  why  your  Honor  it  would  delight  the  heart,  and 
charm  the  eye  of  any  person  to  see  the  daisy  clad 
Hillocks  and  shamrock  fields  of  this  Romantic  Parish.  .  .  . 

I  am  8 1  years  of  age  last  August  and  out  of  pure 
Love,  and  Friendship  for  your  Honor,  please  permit 
me  to  solicit  your  Honor  —  For  my  last  Request,  to 
Enclose  your  Honor's  photograph,  and  the  Photograph 
of  your  Honor's  Amiable  Lovely,  and  Excellent  Lady, 
to  me,  I'll  Treasure  and  Keep  them  hung  up  in  my  par- 
lour as  paragons  of  Beauty,  and  Loveliness. 

And  in  Return  I'll  Wield  my  pen  tho'  old  I  am,  be- 
stowing deserving  Eulogy  on  your  Honor,  And  on  your 
Honor's  Amiable,  Lovely  and  Excellent  Lady. 


235 


The  Second  Post 


IV 

HONBLE  SIR  _j  received  your  Honors  and 
Honble  Lady's  Photographs  this  morning,  which 
I  Return  your  Honor  and  Honble  Lady,  my  Sincere  and 
Unfeigned  thanks  for  the  favour  and  Honor  bestowed 
on  me,  a  favor  and  Honor,  I'll  appreciate  thro' 
Life. 

It's  not  the  Photograph  I  admire  tho'  it  being  Beautiful 
Chaste,  Exquisite,  and  Intrinsically  Grand  present  of  art 
and  taste,  and  it  Borrows  all  its  Lustre  and  Value  from 
the  Honble  Feelings  that  called  it  forth,  and  the  humane 
affectionate  Regard  and  Respect,  that  accompanied  the 
present,  feelings  I'll  thro'  Life  cherish,  and  it  puts  a 
Greater  Crown  on  the  present  and  enchances  it  one 
hundred  times  more  and  more  as  an  Humble  Co.  Cork 
Farmer  to  be  Dignified  with  such  an  Honble  Exquisite 
Present. 

First  of  all  when  I  look  at  your  Honor's  Photograph  it 
explicitly  indicates  to  me,  that  your  Honor  is  the  Type 
of  a  Nobleman,  having  Alacrity  depicted  on  your  Honor's 
Countenance  and  Benevolence  in  your  heart,  and  your 
honor  is  thro'  Life  Benefiscent  and  Charitable  Con- 
descending and  humane,  your  honor  is  thro'  Life  a  Noble, 
Illustrious,  Magnanimous,  and  Philanthropic  Noble- 
man, who  is  Loved  and  Beloved  by  all,  Respected  by 
the  great  and  Noble  of  the  Land,  Your  Honor  being 
a  Goodhearted,  Kindhearted,  Noblehearted  unobtru- 
sive Nobleman  who  have  supported  An  Immaculate 
character  Thro'  Life. 

Your  Honor  is  a  Nobleman,  who  is  broad  and  clear  of 
Views,  decisive  and  Energetic  of  Action  seeing  at  a 
236 


Whimsicalities 

Glance  your  Means  and  Ends,  and  Ignoring  the  Idea  of 
failure,  your  Honor  is  courteous  of  demeanour,  Chari- 
table in  word  and  work,  Honble  and  Equitable  in  all  your 
dealings  thro'  life,  as  a  beloved  Husband,  A  Kind,  fond, 
and  Affectionate  parent,  a  first  class  Butter,  and  Bacon 
Merchant,  and  a  warmhearted  Friend,  why  your  Honor 
is  a  Model  Man  —  your  Honor  is  the  Life  and  Soul  of 
progress,  you  are  a  nobleman  of  Immense  Business 
powers,  and  the  Brilliancy  of  your  Honor's  mind  and 
character,  could  only  be  compared  to  the  (Sun)  on  his 
Evening  declination  when  he  Remits  his  Splendour,  but 
Retains  his  Magnitude,  and  pleases  more  tho'  he  dazzles 
less,  and  the  saying  of  the  poet  is  Verified  in  your  Honor 
that  you  are  of  the  first  flowers  of  the  Earth,  and  first 
Gem  of  the  Sea. 

But  your  Honor  do  not  Require  my  simple  Eulogy  to 
Enhance  your  Honor's  merits  or  my  Lowly  and  Un- 
adorned Language  to  portray  your  Honor's  Inestimable 
Qualifications. 

Secondly,  I  have  to  Bestow  a  share  of  deserved 
Eulogy  on  the  Honble  Lovely  Lady  Dixon,  as  follows  — 

First  of  all,  The  Scripture  says,  that  a  good  Wife  is 
a  good  Fortune,  And  that  houses,  Lands,  and  Cash  are 
Given  by  parents,  but  that  a  prudent,  Lovely,  Amiable, 
and  Excellent  Lady,  is  properly  from  the  Lord.  Such 
as  the  Lovely,  Amiable  Lady  Dixon  is,  why  to  Look  at 
her  Ladyship's  face,  You'll  see  that  Heaven  has  im- 
planted something  beyond  this  world,  Something  bearing 
Kindred  with  the  Skys  on  her  Ladyship,  The  Angelical 
appearance  the  Beautiful  Golden  Looking  Hair,  fine 
high  Forehead,  Smiling  Countenance,  Milk  White 
Breast,  and  Stately  deportment,  that  Providence  and 
Nature,  have  blessed  her  Ladyship  with  And  her  Ruby 

237 


The  Second   Post 

Lips  and  Fragrant  breath  is  far  sweeter  and  more  melli- 
fluent than  the  Remarkable  Dews  that  fell  in  the  days  of 
Yore,  on  the  Mountains  of  Sion.  I  Congratulate  your 
Honor,  to  be  Allied  in  the  Rosy  path  of  Matrimony  to 
such  an  Amiable,  Lovely,  and  Excellent  Lady,  because 
in  her  Ladyship's  Juvenile  days  she  was  in  Beauty  and 
Bloom  by  a  true  Comparison  to  be  chosen  by  a  King  or 
to  be  a  prince's  companion  and  vincet  veritas.  Her 
Ladyship  is  Young,  tall,  and  straight,  Neat  and  hand- 
some, Supreme  in  Knowledge  and  Female  Carriage, 
sweet  odour  flows  from  her  head  to  her  Ladyship's 
toes. 

Her  Ladyship  is  Nature's  pride  by  the  height  of 
Morality,  she  being  Endowed  with  Charity  and  Hospital- 
ity, Sweet  odour  flows  from  her  Head  to  her  Ladyship's 
toes.  And  Secondly  her  Ladyship  is  Nature's  pride,  and 
Nature,  as  if  desirous  that  so  bright  a  production  of  her 
Skill  should  shine  forth,  has  bestowed  on  the  Honble 
Lady  Dixon  Bodily  Accomplishments,  Vigour  of  Limbs, 
Dignity  of  shape  and  Air,  and  a  pleasing  Engaging  and 
Open  Cheerful  Countenance. 

Honble  Sir,  and  Madam,  please  Excuse  this  long 
Extemporary  Letter,  Wishing  may  Providence  diffuse 
his  choicest  Blessings  on  Your  Honor  and  Honble  Lady, 
And  on  Your  Young  Lovely  Family,  And  may  ye  all  be 
blessed  with  Length  of  days  and  Years  in  Good  Health 
—  Amen. 

Hoping  when  Your  Honor  will  Receive  this  Cherished 
Letter  please  don't  allow  it  to  go  astray,  But  like  the 
Polar  Star  above  will  shine  in  print  in  Your  Honor's 
Lovely  Parlour  every  day.  —  Believe  me,  Honble  Sir  And 
Madam,  With  Profound  Respect,  Your  Ob*  Servant, 
Most  Respectfully, 

238 


XVIII 
OLLA  PODRIDA 

Bishop   Warburton   preaches   philosophy   to   the   Rev. 
Dr.  Stukely  xo       x^>.       ^>        *o       *^>       ^> 

June  19,  1738 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  beg  your  acceptance  of  the 
inclosed.  Our  friend  the  Doctor  told  me  he  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you.  He  told  me,  you  rejected 
the  lines  he  shewed  you  as  impostures.  I  do  not  wonder 
at  it.  You  know  best  whether  the  thing  be  possible. 
But  the  family  is  so  far  above  all  suspicion  of  fraud, 
or  having  any  ends  to  serve  by  it,  that  nothing  but  an 
absolute  impossibility  could  make  me  disbelieve  it. 

I  hope  you  are  easier  in  your  domestics  than  you  was ; 
that  you  have  got  servants  that  are  honest,  careful,  and 
with  a  few  brains.  I  very  much  wish  to  see  you,  and 
hope  you  will  do  me  that  pleasure  at  B  rough  ton  some 
time  next  month.  However,  do  me  the  favour  to  let  me 
know,  that  I  may  be  at  home ;  for  this  summer  time  I 
have  some  short  excursion  or  other  that  I  am  every  post 
making,  but  none  half  so  interesting  to  me  as  the  seeing 
you.  I  hope  the  young  ones  are  all  well,  and  that  Miss 
Fanny  is  grown  woman  enough  now  to  make  your  coffee ; 
a  happiness,  some  years  ago,  you  used  to  flatter  yourself 
with  the  hopes  of  living  to  see. 

You  see  the  burthen  of  my  song  is  hope,  hope,  hope; 

239 


The  Second  Post 

and  how  much  I  am  obliged  to  live  upon  it.  But,  that 
this  may  never  fool  you  or  me  too  long,  I  will  tell  you  a 
story.  Sir  Francis  Bacon  was  walking  out  one  evening 
near  the  Thames,  where  he  saw  some  fishermen  ready  to 
cast  in  their  nets :  he  asked  them  what  they  would  have 
for  their  draught ;  they  said,  ten  shillings ;  he  bade  them 
five ;  so,  not  agreeing,  the  fishermen  threw  in  upon  their 
own  fortune,  and  took  nothing.  On  this,  Bacon  seeing 
them  look  very  blank,  asked  them  why  they  were  such 
blockheads  as  not  to  take  his  money  ?  They  answered, 
they  had  been  toiling  all  day,  and  had  taken  nothing, 
and  they  were  in  hopes  that  their  last  cast  would  have 
made  amends  for  all :  on  which  he  told  them,  they  were 
unlucky  dogs ;  but  that  he  would  give  them  something  to 
carry  home  with  them ;  and  it  was  this  maxim,  which 
they  should  be  sure  never  to  forget,  That  hope  is  a  good 
breakfast,  but  a  very  bad  supper.  So  far  for  my  story. 
But  I  do  not  know  how  it  is;  but  I  should  make  but  a 
bad  meal  of  it,  either  at  breakfast  or  supper.  I  should 
like  it  well  enough  for  a  kind  of  second  course,  as  cheese 
to  digest  a  good  substantial  dinner.  And  so  the  happy 
use  it;  while  the  unhappy,  like  the  poor,  are  forced  to 
make  an  eternal  meal  upon  it.  —  I  am,  dear  friend,  yours 
most  affectionately,  W.  WARBURTON 


Dr.   Andrew   Brown    (?)    instils   worldly   wisdom   into 
Scotch  physicians  -Qy         *v>         <o         *o 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  thank  you  for  the  present  of  your 
small  Treatise  about  Vomiting  in  Fevers,  but  at 
the  same  time  I  approve  of  your  reasons,  you  must  give 
me  leave  to  condemn  your  conduct :   I  know  you  begin 
240 


Olla   Podrida 

to  storm  at  this ;  but  have  a  little  patience.  There  was 
a  physician  of  this  town,  perhaps  the  most  famous  in  his 
time,  being  called  to  his  patient,  complaining  (it  may  be) 
of  an  oppression  at  his  stomach ;  he  would  very  safely 
and  cautiously  order  him  a  decoction  of  carduus,  some- 
times hot  water ;  I  don't  know  but  he  would  allow  now 
and  then  fat  mutton  broth  too.  The  patient  was  vomited, 
and  the  doctor  could  Justine  himself  that  he  had  not 
omitted  that  necessary  evacuation  ;  this  was  his  constant 
practice.  Being  chid  by  his  collegues,  who  well  knew 
he  neglected  antimony,  not  out  of  ignorance  or  fear,  he 
would  roguishly  tell  them,  "Come,  come,  gentlemen,  that 
might  cure  my  patient,  but  it  would  kill  the  distemper, 
and  I  should  have  less  money  in  my  pocket.  A  pretty 
business  indeed,  a  rich  citizen  overgorges  himself,  which 
by  management  may  be  improved  into  a  good  substantial 
fever,  worth  at  least  twenty  guineas ;  and  you  would  have 
me  nip  the  plant  in  the  bud,  have  a  guinea  for  my  pains, 
and  lose  the  reputation  of  a  safe  practitioner  to  boot." 
The  gentleman  had  reason,  all  trades  must  live.  Alas ! 
our  people  here  are  grown  too  quick-sighted,  they  will 
have  antimonial  vomits,  and  a  physician  dares  not  omit 
them,  tho'  it  is  many  a  good  fee  out  of  his  pocket.  Join, 
I  say,  with  these  wise  gentlemen ;  they  wish  well  to  the 
Faculty ;  procure  an  order  of  the  Colledge,  and  banish 
antimony  the  city  of  Edinburgh,  and  the  liberties  thereof. 
'Tis  a  barbarous  thing  in  these  hard  times  to  strangle  an 
infant  distemper;  they  ought  no  more  to  be  murdered 
than  young  cattle  in  Lent.  Let  it  be  as  great  a  crime  to 
kill  a  fever  with  an  antimonial  vomit,  as  to  fish  in  spawn- 
ing time.  The  Dutch  physicians  are  like  the  rest  of  their 
nation  wise ;  they  banish  that  heathenish  Jesuitical  drug, 
that  would  quickly  reduce  their  practice  to  a  narrow 
R  241 


The  Second   Post 

compass  in  the  hopefulest  distemper  of  the  countrey. 
These  rogues  that  dream  of  nothing  but  specificks  and 
panaceas,  I  would  have  them  all  hang'd,  not  so  much  for 
the  folly  of  the  attempt,  as  the  malice  of  their  intention ; 
rascals,  to  starve  so  many  worthy  gentlemen,  that  perhaps 
know  no  otherwise  to  get  their  livelihood.  Will  the 
glasiers  ever  puzle  themselves  to  make  glass  malleable, 
would  the  knitters  ever  so  much  as  have  dreamed  of  a 
stocking-loom,  or  the  young  writers  petition'd  to  have 
informations  printed ;  all  those  are  wise  in  their  genera- 
tion, and  must  the  physicians  be  the  only  fools? 

We  all  know  here  there  is  no  danger  in  antimonial 
vomits,  but  this  is  inter  nos;  you  must  not  tell  your 
patient  so,  let  him  believe,  as  I  said  before,  that  anti- 
monial vomits  are  dangerous,  deleterial,  break  the  fibres 
of  the  stomach,  etc.,  and  that  you  cannot  safely  give  them. 
So  shall  you  be  stiled  a  cautious,  safe  physician,  one  that 
won't  spoil  the  curll  of  a  man's  hair  to  pull  him  out  of  the 
river.  We  have  some  dangerous  dogs  here,  that  in  a 
quinsy,  when  a  man  is  ready  to  be  chock'd,  will  blood 
him  forty  ounces  at  once ;  is  not  this  extreamly  hazard- 
ous ?  They  cut  off  limbs,  cut  for  the  stone  ;  is  this  safe  ? 
I  tell  you  the  reputation  of  a  wary  safe  physician  is  worth 
all  the  parts  of  his  character  besides.  Now  I  hope  you  will 
allow  I  have  reason  for  what  I  said. 

I  have  seen  the  Melius  Inquirendum,  and  am  too  well 
acquainted  with  the  stile  and  spelling,  not  to  know  that  it 
is  Dr.  Eyzat's ;  but  here  I  must  be  with  you  again,  how 
come  you  to  write  against  one  that  says  two  drams  of 
emetick  wine  is  a  sufficient  doze  for  a  man?  Suffer  not 
such  things  to  come  abroad ;  they  will  imagine  you  are 
not  got  so  far  as  the  circulation  of  the  blood  in  Scotland ; 
write  seriously  against  such  people.  Fy  upon't,  I  will 
242 


Olla   Podrida 

never  allow  them  to  be  above  the  dispensation  of  ballads 
and  doggrel,  etc.  —  I  am,  Sir,  yours,  etc. 
LONDON,  August  23,  1699 

Lady  Dufferin  is  whimsical  on  property  ^> 

HAMPTON  COURT,  October  22 

MY  DEAR  MISS  BERRY,  — I  began  a  little  note  the 
other  day  to  thank  you  for  your  kind  remembrance 
of  me  and  your  coming  so  far  to  see  me  (which  opportunity 
I  was  very  sorry  to  have  missed),  but  my  note  in  the 
agitating  agonies  of  packing  up  disappeared,  and  I  had 
no  strength  of  mind  to  begin  another.  My  mother  and 
I  have  returned  to  this  place  for  a  few  days,  in  order  to 
make  an  ineffectual  grasp  at  any  remaining  property  that 
we  may  have  in  the  world.  Of  course  you  have  heard 
that  we  were  robbed  and  murdered  the  other  night  by  a 
certain  soft-spoken  cook,  who  headed  a  storming  party  of 
banditti  through  my  mother's  kitchen  window ;  if  not, 
you  will  see  the  full,  true,  and  dreadful  particulars  in  the 
papers,  as  we  are  to  be  "had  up"  at  the  Old  Bailey  on 
Monday  next  for  the  trial.  We  have  seen  a  great  deal 
of  life,  and  learnt  a  great  deal  of  the  criminal  law  of 
England  this  week,  —  knowledge  cheaply  purchased  at 
the  cost  of  all  my  wardrobe  and  all  my  mother's  plate. 
We  have  gone  through  two  examinations  in  court :  they 
were  very  hurrying  and  agitating  affairs,  and  I  had  to 
kiss  either  the  Bible  or  the  magistrate  —  I  don't  recollect 
which,  but  it  smelt  of  thumbs.  The  magistrates  seemed 
to  take  less  interest  in  my  clothes  than  in  my  mother's 
spoons ;  —  I  suppose  from  some  secret  affinity  or  con- 
geniality which  they  were  conscious  of.  "  Similis  gaudet " 
—  something  —  (I  have  lost  my  Latin  with  the  rest  of  my 

243 


The  Second  Post 

property) .     When  I  say  "  similis, "  I  don't  so  much  allude 
to  the  purity  of  the  metal  as  to  its  particular  form. 

I  find  that  the  idea  of  personal  property  is  a  fascinating 
illusion,  for  our  goods  belong  in  fact  to  our  country,  and 
not  to  us ;  and  that  the  petticoats  and  stockings  which  I 
have  fondly  imagined  mine,  are  really  the  petticoats  of 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland.  I  am  now  and  then  indulged 
with  a  distant  glimpse  of  my  most  necessary  garments  in 
the  hands  of  different  policemen;  but  "in  this  stage  of 
the  proceedings"  may  do  no  more  than  wistfully  recognise 
them.  Even  on  such  occasions,  the  words  of  justice  are, 
"Policeman  B  25,  produce  your  gowns;"  "Letter  A  36, 
identify  your  lace;"  "Letter  C,  tie  up  your  stockings." 
All  this  is  harrowing  to  the  feelings ;  but  one  cannot  have 
everything  in  this  life ;  we  have  obtained  justice  and  can 
easily  wait  for  a  change  of  linen.  Hopes  are  held  out  to 
us  that  at  some  vague  period  in  the  lapse  of  time  we  may 
be  allowed  a  wear  out  of  our  raiment  —  at  least,  so  much 
of  it  as  may  have  resisted  the  wear  and  tear  of  justice ; 
and  my  poor  mother  looks  confidently  forward  to  being 
restored  to  the  bosom  of  her  silver  teapot.  But  I  don't 
know ;  I  begin  to  look  upon  all  property  with  a  philo- 
sophic eye  as  unstable  in  its  nature  and  liable  to  all  sorts 
of  pawnbrokers.  Moreover,  the  police  and  I  have  so  long 
had  my  clothes  in  common,  that  I  shall  never  feel  at 
home  in  them  again.  To  a  virtuous  mind  the  idea  that 
Inspector  Dowsett  examined  into  all  one's  hooks  and 
eyes,  tapes  and  buttons,  etc.,  is  inexpressibly  painful. 
But  I  cannot  pursue  that  view  of  the  subject.  Let  me 
hope,  dear  Miss  Berry,  that  you  feel  for  us  as  we  really 
deserve,  and  that  you  wish  me  well  "thro"  my  clothes," 
on  Monday  next.  .  .  .  Yours  very  truly, 

HELEN  A.  DUFFERIN 
244 


Olla   Podrida 

Canon    Ainger    sends    a    Christmas    hamper    of    good 
stories        ^>        *c>        *^y        ^>        *o        -o 

(To  Mrs.  Horace  Smith) 

MASTER'S  HOUSE,  TEMPLE,  E.G. 
Christmas  1898 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  — "As  the  Festive  Season  again 
recurs,  I  have  to  solicit  a  renewal  of  that  friendly 
confidence,  which  it  will  ever  be  my  study  to  deserve.  I 
hope  to  be  able  to  supply  you  with  some  fine  Chestnuts 
for  the  Christmas  dinner,  of  which  samples  are  inclosed. 
Joe  Millers  are  cheap  to-day."  —  I  quote  from  my  favour- 
ite grocer.  Lily  —  that  "plant  and  flower  of  light"  (Ben 
Jonson)  sends  me  a  very  gratifying  account  of  you  all, 
especially  of  Edward,  who  I  understand  is  shortly  to 
take  Holy  Orders.  If  he  would  wish  me  to  sign  his 
"Si  quis,"  I  shall  be  happy  to  do  so  —  and  hope  he  will 
not  think  I  am  "Si-quizzing"  him.  .  .  . 

I  heard  a  story  lately  of  a  Butler. 

Party  in  a  Country  House.  Maid  dressing  a  guest's 
hair.  Guest:  "I  hope,  Parker,  you  are  comfortable  in 
your  place."  "Oh  yes,  Ma'am  —  the  society  downstairs 
is  so  superior.  The  Butler  leads  the  conversation.  He  is 
such  a  refined  man  —  indeed,  quite  scientific.  He  has  been 
telling  us  all  about  Evolution,  and  we  quite  understand  it 
now.  He  says  we  are  all  descended  from  Darwin." 

By  the  way,  did  you  hear  of  Mrs.  Creighton  (wife  of 
the  Bishop  of  London)  addressing  a  great  Mothers' 
Meeting  at  the  East  End  of  London  on  how  to  make 
home  attractive  and  comfortable  and  so  on.  Old  Lady  at 
the  conclusion  to  another  old  Lady,  "Ah!  it's  all  very 

245 


The  Second   Post 

well  —  but  I  should  like  to  know  what  Mrs.  Creighton 
does  when  old  Mr.  Creighton  comes  home  drunk." 

And  this  by  a  natural  association  of  ideas  reminds  me 
of  an  epigram  just  sent  me  from  Bristol.  At  Clevedon 
(where  William  and  I  once  sat  and  smoked  under  the 
Church  wall)  there  is  a  very  High  Church  clergyman 
named  Vicars  Foote,  who  has  been  lately  reprimanded 
by  his  Bishop  for  excessive  Ritual.  A  flippant  person  puts 
into  the  offending  parson's  mouth  the  following  retort, 

"I  will  not  leave  my  benefice, 

Nor  change  the  ways  I've  got. 
A  Bishop's  foot  may  be  put  down, 
A  Vicar's  Foot  may  not ! " 

I  wonder  if  another  Theological  story  has  reached 
Sheffield  yet  —  about  the  old  Scotch  lady  who  heard  that 
in  the  Revised  Version  of  the  Lord's  Prayer,  the  Revisers 
had  substituted  "Deliver  us  from  the  evil  one"  for 
"Deliver  us  from  evil"  —  (as  they  have  done,  you  know). 
The  old  lady  replied,  "Eh,  Sirs  —  but  he'll  be  sair  up- 
lifted!" 

I  have  been  in  Scotland  this  year,  and  in  Ireland,  but 
I  think  most  of  the  good  stories  have  been  told.  By 
the  way,  if  you  want  some  good  old  stories,  get  —  — 's 
recently  published  volume  of  Rummy-nuisances  (this  is 
my  witty  way  of  spelling  it).  I  have  suggested  (not  to 
him)  as  a  motto  for  the  next  Edition  — 

Under  the  Chestnut  Tree 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me  ? 

As  we  are  on  the  subject  of  the  clergy,  have  you  ever 

heard  this?     Scotch  Minister  returning  to  his  Manse  in 

the  gloaming,  becomes  aware  of  a  figure  sleeping  sweetly 

in  a  ditch.     On  further  examination,  he  discovers  one  of 

246 


Olla   Podrida 

nis  own  Elders.  After  dragging  him  up  and  restoring 
his  suspended  animation,  he  asks,  with  some  indignation, 
where  his  Church  Officer  had  been.  "Well,  Minister, 
I  canna  weel  remember  whether  it  was  a  wedding  or  a 
Funeral  —  but  it  was  a  gran'  success!"  It  must  have 
been  the  same  gentleman  (or  one  of  the  same  pattern), 
who  at  a  dinner  party,  after  drinking  champagne  during 
the  earlier  courses,  was  heard  to  murmur:  "I  hope 
there's  some  whisky  coming !  I  get  vera  tired  of  these 
mineral  waters!" 

And  now  that  you,  like  this  gentleman,  are  getting 
"vera  tired"  of  so  much  prose  —  and  that,  not  sparkling 
—  what  say  you  to  dropping  into  poetry  like  Mr.  Wegg  ? 

"There  was  an  old  man  of  Bengal 
Who  purchased  a  Bat  and  a  Ball 
Some  gloves,  and  some  pads  — 
(It  was  one  of  his  fads  — 
For  he  never  played  cricket  at  all !)." 

.  .  .  Well,  I  fear  you  and  yours  will  have  to  mourn 
over  me  that  years  do  not  seem  to  "bring  the  philosophic 
mind,"  and  that  your  poor  friend  is  just  as  frivolous  as 
he  was  thirty  years  ago.  Well,  well,  it's  Christmas  time, 
and  a  few  Crackers  (besides  Tom  Smith's)  may  be 
allowed  upon  the  dinner  table,  among  the  plainer  and 
more  wholesome  viands.  And  so  I  trust  to  be  forgiven, 
and  to  be  thought  kindly  of  by  my  dear  old  friends  at 
the  "Westwood  Arms,"  for  that  is  still  its  name  to  me, 
knowing  that  they  are  always  open  to  receive  their  at- 
tached and  faithful  friend.  A.  A. 


247 


The  Second   Post 
R.  L.  S.  has  an  Edinburgh  adventure  ^y        *cy        «o 

(To  Mrs.  Sitwell,  now  Mrs.  Sidney  Colvin) 

April  1875 

HERE  is  my  long  story :  yesterday  night,  after  having 
supped,  I  grew  so  restless  that  I  was  obliged  to 
go  out  in  search  of  some  excitement.  There  was  a  half- 
moon  lying  over  on  its  back,  and  incredibly  bright  in  the 
midst  of  a  faint  grey  sky  set  with  faint  stars :  a  very 
inartistic  moon,  that  would  have  damned  a  picture. 

At  the  most  populous  place  of  the  city  I  found  a  little 
boy,  three  years  old  perhaps,  half  frantic  with  terror,  and 
crying  to  every  one  for  his  "Mammy."  This  was  about 
eleven,  mark  you.  People  stopped  and  spoke  to  him, 
and  then  went  on,  leaving  him  more  frightened  than 
before.  But  I  and  a  good-humoured  mechanic  came  up 
together ;  and  I  instantly  developed  a  latent  faculty  for 
setting  the  hearts  of  children  at  rest.  Master  Tommy 
Murphy  (such  was  his  name)  soon  stopped  crying,  and 
allowed  me  to  take  him  up  and  carry  him ;  and  the 
mechanic  and  I  trudged  away  along  Princes  Street  to 
find  his  parents.  I  was  soon  so  tired  that  I  had  to  ask 
the  mechanic  to  carry  the  bairn ;  and  you  should  have 
seen  the  puzzled  contempt  with  which  he  looked  at  me, 
for  knocking  in  so  soon.  He  was  a  good  fellow,  however, 
although  very  impracticable  and  sentimental ;  and  he 
soon  bethought  him  that  Master  Murphy  might  catch 
cold  after  his  excitement,  so  we  wrapped  him  up  in  my 
greatcoat.  "Tobauga  (Tobago)  Street"  was  the  address 
he  gave  us ;  and  we  deposited  him  in  a  little  grocer's  shop 
and  went  through  all  the  houses  in  the  street  without  being 
able  to  find  any  one  of  the  name  of  Murphy.  Then  I  set 
248 


Olla   Podrida 

off  to  the  head  police  office,  leaving  my  greatcoat  in  pawn 
about  Master  Murphy's  person.  As  I  went  down  one  of 
the  lowest  streets  in  the  town,  I  saw  a  little  bit  of  life 
that  struck  me.  It  was  now  half-past  twelve,  a  little  shop 
stood  still  half-open,  and  a  boy  of  four  or  five  years  old 
was  walking  up  and  down  before  it  imitating  cockcrow. 
He  was  the  only  living  creature  within  sight. 

At  the  police  offices  no  word  of  Master  Murphy's 
parents;  so  I  went  back  empty-handed.  The  good 
groceress,  who  had  kept  her  shop  open  all  this  time, 
could  keep  the  child  no  longer;  her  father,  bad  with 
bronchitis,  said  he  must  forth.  So  I  got  a  large  scone 
with  currants  in  it,  wrapped  my  coat  about  Tommy,  got 
him  up  on  my  arm,  and  away  to  the  police  office  with 
him :  not  very  easy  in  my  mind,  for  the  poor  child,  young 
as  he  was  —  he  could  scarce  speak  —  was  full  of  terror  for 
the  "office,"  as  he  called  it.  He  was  now  very  grave 
and  quiet  and  communicative  with  me ;  told  me  how 
his  father  thrashed  him,  and  divers  household  matters. 
Whenever  he  saw  a  woman  on  our  way  he  looked  after 
her  over  my  shoulder  and  then  gave  his  judgment : 
"That's  no  her"  adding  sometimes,  "She  has  a  wean 
wi'  her."  Meantime  I  was  telling  him  how  I  was  going 
to  take  him  to  a  gentleman  who  would  find  out  his  mother 
for  him  quicker  than  ever  I  could,  and  how  he  must 
not  be  afraid  of  him,  but  be  brave,  as  he  had  been  with 
me.  We  had  just  arrived  at  our  destination  —  we  were 
just  under  the  lamp  —  when  he  looked  me  in  the  face 
and  said  appealingly,  "He'll  no  put  me  in  the  office?" 
And  I  had  to  assure  him  that  he  would  not,  even  as  I 
pushed  open  the  door  and  took  him  in. 

The  serjeant  was  very  nice,  and  I  got  Tommy  com- 
fortably seated  on  a  bench,  and  spirited  him  up  with 
249 


The  Second  Post 

good  words  and  the  scone  with  the  currants  in  it;  and 
then,  telling  him  I  was  just  going  out  to  look  for  Mammy, 
I  got  my  greatcoat  and  slipped  away. 

Poor  little  boy  !  he  was  not  called  for,  I  learn,  until  ten 
this  morning.  This  is  very  ill-written,  and  I've  missed 
half  that  was  picturesque  in  it;  but  to  say  truth,  I  am 
very  tired  and  sleepy:  it  was  two  before  I  got  to  bed. 
However,  you  see,  I  had  my  excitement. 

Monday.  —  I  have  written  nothing  all  morning ;  I 
cannot  settle  to  it.  Yes  —  I  will  though. 

10.45.  —  And  I  did.  I  want  to  say  something  more  to 
you  about  the  three  women.  I  wonder  so  much  why 
they  should  have  been  women,  and  halt  between  two 
opinions  in  the  matter.  Sometimes  I  think  it  is  because 
they  were  made  by  a  man  for  men ;  sometimes,  again,  I 
think  there  is  an  abstract  reason  for  it,  and  there  is 
something  more  substantive  about  a  woman  than  ever 
there  can  be  about  a  man.  I  can  conceive  a  great 
mythical  woman,  living  alone  among  inaccessible 
mountain-tops  or  in  some  lost  island  in  the  pagan  seas, 
and  ask  no  more.  Whereas  if  I  hear  of  a  Hercules,  I 
ask  after  lole  or  Dejanira.  I  cannot  think  him  a  man 
without  women.  But  I  can  think  of  these  three  deep- 
breasted  women,  living  out  all  their  days  on  remote  hill- 
tops, seeing  the  white  dawn  and  the  purple  even,  and 
the  world  outspread  before  them  for  ever,  and  no  more 
to  them  for  ever  than  a  sight  of  the  eyes,  a  hearing 
of  the  ears,  a  far-away  interest  of  the  inflexible  heart,  not 
pausing,  not  pitying,  but  austere  with  a  holy  austerity, 
rigid  with  a  calm  and  passionless  rigidity;  and  I  find 
them  none  the  less  women  to  the  end. 

And  think,  if  one  could  love  a  woman  like  that  once, 
250 


Olla   Podrida 

see  her  once  grow  pale  with  passion,  and  once  wring 
your  lips  out  upon  hers,  would  it  not  be  a  small  thing  to 
die  ?  Not  that  there  is  not  a  passion  of  a  quite  other 
sort,  much  less  epic,  far  more  dramatic  and  intimate, 
that  comes  out  of  the  very  frailty  of  perishable  women ; 
out  of  the  lines  of  suffering  that  we  see  written  about 
their  eyes,  and  that  we  may  wipe  out  if  it  were  but  for  a 
moment ;  out  of  the  thin  hands,  wrought  and  tempered 
in  agony  to  a  fineness  of  perception,  that  the  indifferent 
or  the  merely  happy  cannot  know ;  out  of  the  tragedy 
that  lies  about  such  a  love,  and  the  pathetic  incomplete- 
ness. This  is  another  thing,  and  perhaps  it  is  a  higher. 
I  look  over  my  shoulder  at  the  three  great  headless 
Madonnas,  and  they  look  back  at  me  and  do  not  move ; 
see  me,  and  through  and  over  me,  the  foul  life  of  the  city 
dying  to  its  embers  already  as  the  night  draws  on ;  and 
over  miles  and  miles  of  silent  country,  set  here  and  there 
with  lit  towns,  thundered  through  here  and  there  with 
night  expresses  scattering  fire  and  smoke ;  and  away  to 
the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  the  furthest  star,  and  the  blank 
regions  of  nothing ;  and  they  are  not  moved.  My  quiet, 
great-kneed,  deep-breasted,  well-draped  ladies  of  Neces- 
sity, I  give  my  heart  to  you !  R.  L.  S. 

R.  L.  S.  attends  a  performance  of  the  Demi-Monde  by 
Dumas  fils       ^^         *z* 

(To  William  Archer) 

Saranac  Spring,  i88-(  ?) 

MY  DEAR  ARCHER,  — It  happened  thus.     I  came 
forth  from  that  performance  in  a  breathing  heat 
of  indignation.    (Mind,  at  this  distance  of  time  and  with 
my  increased  knowledge,  I  admit  there  is  a  problem  in 
•      251 


The  Second   Post 

the  piece ;  but  I  saw  none  then,  except  a  problem  in 
brutality;  and  I  still  consider  the  problem  in  that  case 
not  established.)  On  my  way  down  the  Fran^ais  stairs, 
I  trod  on  an  old  gentleman's  toes,  whereupon  with  that 
suavity  that  so  well  becomes  me,  I  turned  about  to 
apologise,  and  on  the  instant,  repenting  me  of  that  inten- 
tion, stopped  the  apology  midway,  and  added  something 
in  French  to  this  effect :  No,  you  are  one  of  the  laches  who 
have  been  applauding  that  piece.  I  retract  my  apology. 
Said  the  old  Frenchman,  laying  his  hand  on  my  arm, 
and  with  a  smile  that  was  truly  heavenly  in  temperance, 
irony,  good-nature,  and  knowledge  of  the  world,  "Ah, 
monsieur,  vous  etes  bien  jeune  !"  -  Yours  very  truly, 
ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  returns  thanks  for  a  barometer  ^ 
(To  James  T.  Fields) 

21  CHARLES  STREET 

July  6,  8.33  A.M. 

Barometer  at  30^ 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND  AND  NEIGHBOUR,  - 
Your  most  unexpected  gift,  which  is  not  a  mere 
token  of  remembrance  but  a  permanently  valuable 
present,  is  making  me  happier  every  moment  I  look  at 
it.  It  is  so  pleasant  to  be  thought  of  by  our  friends 
when  they  have  so  much  to  draw  their  thoughts  from 
us;  it  is  so  pleasant,  too,  to  find  that  they  have  cared 
enough  about  us  to  study  our  special  tastes,  —  that  you 
can  see  why  your  beautiful  gift  has  a  growing  charm  for 
me.  Only  Mrs.  Holmes  thinks  it  ought  to  be  in  the 
Parlor  among  the  things  for  show,  and  I  think  it  ought 
252 


Olla   Podrida 

to  be  in  the  Study,  where  I  can  look  at  it  at  least  once 
every  hour  every  day  of  my  life. 

I  have  observed  some  extraordinary  movements  of  the 
index  of  the  barometer  during  the  discussions  which  ensued, 
which  you  may  be  interested  to  see  my  notes  of :  — 

Mrs.  H.  My  dear,  we  shall  of  course  keep  this 
beautiful  barometer  in  the  parlor.  Fair. 

Dr.  H.    Why,  no,  my  dear ;  the  study  is  the  place.    Dry. 

Mrs.  H.  I'm  sure  it  ought  to  go  in  the  parlor.  It's 
too  handsome  for  your  old  den.  Change. 

Dr.  H.     I  shall  keep  it  in  the  study.     Very  dry. 

Mrs.  H.     I  don't  think  that's  fair.     Rain. 

Dr.  H.    I'm  sorry.     Can't  help  it.     Very  dry. 

Mrs.  H.    It's  —  too  —  too  —  ba-a-ad.    Much  rain. 

Dr.  H.  (Music  omitted).  'Mid  pleas-ures  and 
paaal-a-a-c-es.  Set  fair. 

Mrs.  H.     I  will  have  it !    You  horrid Stormy. 

You  see  what  a  wonderful  instrument  this  is  that 
you  have  given  me.  But  my  dear  Mr.  Fields,  while  it 
changes  it  will  be  a  constant  memorial  of  unchanging 
friendship  :  and  while  the  dark  hand  of  fate  is  traversing 
the  whole  range  of  mortal  vicissitudes,  the  golden  index 
of  the  kind  affections  shall  stand  always  at  SET  FAIR. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  felicitates  with  another  young 
man        <^y        <^>        <i>        -<^>        "s^-        -<o 


H 


(To  John  G.  Whittier) 

September  2,  1889 
ERE  I  am  at  your  side  among  the  octogenarians. 


You  know  all  about  it.    You  know  why  I  have  not 
thanked  you  before  this  for  your  beautiful  and  precious 

253 


The  Second   Post 

tribute,  which  would  make  any  birthday  memorable.  I 
remember  how  you  were  overwhelmed  with  tributes  on 
the  occasion  of  your  own  eightieth  birthday,  and  you 
can  understand  the  impossibility  I  find  before  me  of 
responding  in  any  fitting  shape  to  all  the  tokens  of 
friendship  which  I  receive.  ....  I  hope,  dear  Whittier, 
that  you  find  much  to  enjoy  in  the  midst  of  all  the  lesser 
trials  which  old  age  must  bring  with  it.  You  have  kind 
friends  all  around  you,  and  the  love  and  homage  of  your 
fellow-countrymen  as  few  have  enjoyed  them,  with  the 
deep  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  you  have  earned  them, 
not  merely  by  the  gifts  of  your  genius,  but  by  a  noble 
life,  which  has  ripened  without  a  flaw  into  a  grand  and 
serene  old  age.  I  never  see  my  name  coupled  with 
yours,  as  it  often  is  nowadays,  without  feeling  honored 
by  finding  myself  in  such  company,  and  wishing  that  I 
were  more  worthy  of  it.  ...  I  am  living  here  with  my 
daughter-in-law,  and  just  as  I  turned  this  leaf  I  heard 
wheels  at  the  door,  and  she  got  out,  leading  in  in 
triumph  her  husband,  His  Honor,  Judge  Holmes  of 
the  Supreme  Court  of  Massachusetts,  just  arrived  from 
Europe  by  the  Scythia.  I  look  up  to  him  as  my 
Magistrate  and  he  knows  me  as  his  father,  but  my  arms 
are  around  his  neck  and  his  moustache  is  sweeping  my 
cheek  —  I  feel  young  again  at  four-score. 

R.  L.  S.  loses  a  friend  -o        -o        *o        *c^.        <ix 

(To  W.  E.  Henley) 

September  19,  1883 

DEAR  BOY,  —  Our  letters  vigorously  cross :  yo'u  will 
ere  this  have  received  a  note  to   Coggie:    God 
knows  what  was  in  it. 

254 


Olla  Podrida 

It  is  strange,  a  little  before  the  first  word  you  sent  me 
—  so  late  —  kindly  late,  I  know  and  feel  —  I  was  thinking 
in  my  bed,  when  I  knew  you  I  had  six  friends  —  Bob  I 
had  by  nature ;  then  came  the  good  James  Walter  — 
with  all  his  failings  —  the  gentleman  of  the  lot,  alas  to 
sink  so  low,  alas  to  do  so  little,  but  now,  thank  God, 
in  his  quiet  rest ;  next  I  found  Baxter  —  well  do  I  re- 
member telling  Walter  I  had  unearthed  "a  W.S.  that 
I  thought  would  do"  —  it  was  in  the  Academy  Lane,  and 
he  questioned  me  as  to  the  Signet's  qualifications; 
fourth  came  Simpson ;  somewhere  about  the  same 
time,  I  began  to  get  intimate  with  Jenkin ;  last  came 
Colvin.  Then,  one  black  winter  afternoon,  long  Leslie 
Stephen,  in  his  velvet  jacket,  met  me  in  the  Spec,  by 
appointment,  took  me  over  to  the  infirmary,  and  in  the 
crackling,  blighting  gaslight  showed  me  that  old  head 
whose  excellent  representation  I  see  before  me  in  this 
photograph.  Now  when  a  man  has  six  friends,  to  intro- 
duce a  seventh  is  usually  hopeless.  Yet  when  you  were 
presented,  you  took  to  them  and  they  to  you  upon  the 
nail.  You  must  have  been  a  fine  fellow ;  but  what  a 
singular  fortune  I  must  have  had  in  my  six  friends  that 
you  should  take  to  all.  I  don't  know  if  it  is  good  Latin, 
most  probably  not:  but  this  is  enscrolled  before  my 
eyes  for  Walter :  Tandem  e  mibibus  in  apricum  properat. 
Rest,  I  suppose,  I  know,  was  all  that  remained ;  but 
O  to  look  back,  to  remember  all  the  mirth,  all  the  kind- 
ness, all  the  humorous  limitations  and  loved  defects  of 
that  character ;  to  think  that  he  was  young  with  me, 
sharing  that  weather-beaten,  Fergusonian  youth,  looking 
forward  through  the  clouds  to  the  sun-burst;  and  now 
clean  gone  from  my  path,  silent  —  well,  well.  This  has 
been  a  strange  awakening.  Last  night,  when  I  was 

255 


The  Second   Post 

alone  in  the  house,  with  the  window  open  on  the  lovely 
still  night,  I  could  have  sworn  he  was  in  the  room  with 
me ;  I  could  show  you  the  spot ;  and,  what  was  very 
curious,  I  heard  his  rich  laughter,  a  thing  I  had  not  called 
to  mind  for  I  know  not  how  long. 

I  see  his  coral  waistcoat  studs  that  he  wore  the  first 
time  he  dined  in  my  house ;  I  see  his  attitude,  leaning 
back  a  little,  already  with  something  of  a  portly  air, 
and  laughing  internally.  How  I  admired  him  !  And 
now  in  the  West  Kirk. 

I  am  trying  to  write  out  this  haunting  bodily  sense  of 
absence ;  besides,  what  else  should  I  write  of  ? 

Yes,  looking  back,  I  think  of  him  as  one  who  was 
good,  though  sometimes  clouded.  He  was  the  only 
gentle  one  of  all  my  friends,  save  perhaps  the  other 
Walter.  And  he  was  certainly  the  only  modest  man 
among  the  lot.  He  never  gave  himself  away ;  he  kept 
back  his  secret ;  there  was  •  always  a  gentle  problem 
behind  all.  Dear,  dear,  what  a  wreck;  and  yet  how 
pleasant  is  the  retrospect !  God  doeth  all  things  well, 
though  by  what  strange,  solemn,  and  murderous  con- 
trivances. 

It  is  strange :  he  was  the  only  man  I  ever  loved  who 
did  not  habitually  interrupt.  The  fact  draws  my  own 
portrait.  And  it  is  one  of  the  many  reasons  why  I  count 
myself  honoured  by  his  friendship.  A  man  like  you  had 
to  like  me;  you  could  not  help  yourself;  but  Ferrier 
was  above  me,  we  were  not  equals ;  his  true  self 
humoured  and  smiled  paternally  upon  my  failings,  even 
as  I  humoured  and  sorrowed  over  his. 

Well,  first  his  mother,  then  himself,  they  are  gone  : 
"in  their  resting  graves." 

When  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  do  not  know  what  I 
256 


Olla  Podrida 

said  to  his  sister,  and  I  fear  to  try  again.  Could  you 
send  her  this  ?  There  is  too  much  about  yourself  and  me 
in  it ;  but  that,  if  you  do  not  mind,  is  but  a  mark  of 
sincerity.  It  would  let  her  know  how  entirely  in  the 
mind  of  (I  suppose)  his  oldest  friend,  the  good,  true 
Ferrier  obliterates  the  memory  of  the  other,  who  was 
only  his  "lunatic  brother." 

Judge  of  this  for  me,  and  do  as  you  please ;  anyway, 
I  will  try  to  write  to  her  again ;  my  last  was  some  kind 
of  scrawl  that  I  could  not  see  for  crying.  This  came 
upon  me,  remember,  with  terrible  suddenness ;  I  was 
surprised  by  this  death ;  and  it  is  fifteen  or  sixteen  years 
since  first  I  saw  the  handsome  face  in  the  Spec.  I  made 
sure,  besides,  to  have  died  first.  Love  to  you,  your  wife, 
and  her  sisters.  —  Ever  yours,  dear  boy, 

R.  L.  S. 

I  never  knew  any  man  so  superior  to  himself  as  poor 
James  Walter.  The  best  of  him  only  came  as  a  vision, 
like  Corsica  from  the  Corniche.  He  never  gave  his 
measure  either  morally  or  intellectually.  The  curse 
was  on  him.  Even  his  friends  did  not  know  him  but 
by  fits.  I  have  passed  hours  with  him  when  he  was 
so  wise,  good,  and  sweet,  that  I  never  knew  the  like  of 
it  in  any  other.  And  for  a  beautiful  good  humour  he 
had  no  match.  I  remember  breaking  in  upon  him  once 
with  a  whole  red-hot  story  (in  my  worst  manner),  pouring 
words  upon  him  by  the  hour  about  some  truck  not  worth 
an  egg  that  had  befallen  me ;  and  suddenly,  some  half 
hour  after,  finding  that  the  sweet  fellow  had  some 
concern  of  his  own  of  infinitely  greater  import,  that  he 
was  patiently  and  smilingly  waiting  to  consult  me  on. 
It  sounds  nothing ;  but  the  courtesy  and  the  unselfish- 
s  257 


The  Second   Post 

ness  were  perfect.  It  makes  me  rage  to  think  how  few 
knew  him,  and  how  many  had  the  chance  to  sneer  at 
their  better. 

Well,  he  was  not  wasted,  that  we  know;  though  if 
anything  looked  liker  irony  than  this  fitting  of  a  man  out 
with  these  rich  qualities  and  faculties  to  be  wrecked  and 
aborted  from  the  very  stocks,  I  do  not  know  the  name  of 
it.  Yet  we  see  that  he  has  left  an  influence ;  the  memory 
of  patient  courtesy  has  often  checked  me  in  rudeness; 
has  it  not  you  ? 

You  can  form  no  idea  of  how  handsome  Walter  was. 
At  twenty  he  was  splendid  to  see ;  then,  too,  he  had  the 
sense  of  power  in  him,  and  great  hopes;  he  looked 
forward,  ever  jesting  of  course,  but  he  looked  to  see 
himself  where  he  had  the  right  to  expect.  He  believed 
in  himself  profoundly ;  but  he  never  disbelieved  in  others. 
To  the  roughest  Highland  student  he  always  had  his 
fine,  kind,  open  dignity  of  manner;  and  a  good  word 
behind  his  back. 

The  last  time  that  I  saw  him  before  leaving  for 
America  —  it  was  a  sad  blow  to  both  of  us.  When  he 
heard  I  was  leaving,  and  that  might  be  the  last  time 
we  might  meet  —  it  almost  was  so  —  he  was  terribly  up- 
set, and  came  round  at  once.  We  sat  late,  in  Baxter's 
empty  house,  where  I  was  sleeping.  My  dear  friend 
Walter  Ferrier :  O  if  I  had  only  written  to  him  more !  if 
only  one  of  us  in  these  last  days  had  been  well !  But  I 
ever  cherished  the  honour  of  his  friendship,  and  now  when 
he  is  gone,  I  know  what  I  have  lost  still  better.  We  live 
on,  meaning  to  meet;  but  when  the  hope  is  gone,  the 
pang  comes.  R.  L.  S. 


258 


Olla  Podrida 

Lieutenant-Commander  Sakuma  Tsutomu,  of  the 
Japanese  navy,  describes  the  sinking  of  his  sub- 
marine. "^  ^^  ^>  "^>  "^ 

May  ig,  1910 

A  LTHOUGH  there  is,  indeed,  no  excuse  to  make  for 
**r  the  sinking  of  his  Imperial  Majesty's  boat  and  for 
the  doing  away  of  subordinates  through  my  heedlessness, 
all  on  the  boat  have  discharged  their  duties  well,  and  in 
everything  acted  calmly  until  death.  Although  we  are 
departing  in  pursuance  of  our  duty  to  the  State,  the  only 
regret  we  have  is  due  to  anxiety  lest  the  men  of  the  world 
may  misunderstand  the  matter,  and  that  thereby  a  blow 
may  be  given  to  the  future  development  of  submarines. 
Gentlemen,  we  hope  you  will  be  increasingly  diligent 
without  misunderstanding  [the  cause  of  this  accident], 
and  that  you  will  devote  your  full  strength  to  investigate 
everything,  and  so  ensure  the  future  development  of  sub- 
marines. If  this  is  done,  we  shall  have  nothing  to  regret. 
While  going  through  gasoline  submarine  exercise  we 
submerged  too  far,  and,  when  we  attempted  to  shut  the 
sluice  valve,  the  chain  in  the  meantime  gave  way.  Then 
we  tried  to  close  the  sluice  valve  by  hand,  but  it  was 
then  too  late,  the  rear  part  being  full  of  water,  and  the 
boat  sank  at  an  angle  of  about  25  degrees. 

1.  The  boat  rested  at  an  incline  of  about  13  degrees, 
pointing  towards  the  stern. 

2.  The  switchboard  being  under  water,  the  electric 
lights  gave  out.     Offensive  gas  developed,  and  respiration 
became  difficult. 

At  about  10  a.m.  on  the  isth  the  boat  sank,  and  under 
this  offensive  gas  we  endeavoured  to  expel  the  water 
with  a  hand  pump. 

1  From  a  translation  in  the  "Standard." 

259 


The  Second  Post 

At  the  same  time  as  the  vessel  was  being  submerged, 
we  expelled  the  water  from  the  main  tank.  The  light 
having  gone  out  the  gauge  cannot  be  seen,  but  we  know 
that  the  water  has  been  expelled  from  the  main  tank. 
We  cannot  use  the  electric  current  entirely.  The  electric 
liquid  is  overflowing,  but  no  salt  water  has  entered,  and 
chlorine  gas  has  not  developed.  We  only  rely  upon  the 
hand  pump  now. 

The  above  has  been  written  under  the  light  of  the 
conning  tower,  when  it  was  11.45  o'clock.  We  are  now 
soaked  by  the  water  that  has  made  its  way  in.  Our 
clothes  are  very  wet  and  we  feel  cold. 

I  had  always  been  used  to  warn  my  shipmates  that 
their  behaviour  (on  an  emergency)  should  be  calm  and 
delicate  while  brave,  otherwise  we  could  not  hope  for 
development  and  progress,  and  that,  at  the  same  time, 
one  should  not  cultivate  excessive  delicacy,  lest  work 
should  be  retarded.  People  may  be  tempted  to  ridicule 
this  after  this  failure,  but  I  am  perfectly  confident  that 
my  previous  words  have  not  been  mistaken. 

The  depth  gauge  of  the  conning  tower  indicates  52, 
and,  despite  the  endeavour  to  expel  the  water,  the  pump 
stopped  and  did  not  work  after  twelve  o'clock. 

The  depth  in  this  neighbourhood  being  ten  fathoms, 
the  reading  may  be  correct. 

The  officers  and  men  of  submarines  must  be  appointed 
from  the  most  distinguished  among  the  distinguished, 
or  there  will  be  annoyance  in  cases  like  this.  Happily 
ah1  the  members  of  this  crew  have  discharged  their  duties 
well,  and  I  feel  satisfied. 

I  have  always  expected  death  whenever  I  left  my  home, 
and  therefore  my  will  is  already  in  the  drawer  at  Karasaki. 
(This  remark  refers  only  to  my  private  affairs,  and  it  is 
260 


Olla   Podrida 

not  necessary.  Messrs.  Taguchi  and  Asami,  please  in- 
form my  father  of  this.) 

I  beg  respectfully  to  say  to  his  Majesty  that  I  respect- 
fully request  that  none  of  the  families  left  by  my  sub- 
ordinates shall  suffer.  The  only  matter  I  am  anxious 
about  now  is  this. 

Please  convey  my  compliments  to  the  following 
gentlemen  (the  order  may  not  be  proper) :  —  Minister 
Saito,  Vice-Admiral  Shimamura,  Vice-Admiral  Fujii, 
Rear-Admiral  Nawa,  Rear-Admiral  Yamashita,  Rear- 
Admiral  Narita.  (Atmospheric  pressure  is  increasing, 
and  I  feel  as  if  my  tympanum  were  breaking.)  Captain 
Oguri,  Captain  Ide,  Commander  Matsumura  (Junichi), 
Captain  Matsumura  (Riu),  Commander  Matsumura 
(Kiku),  my  elder  brother,  Captain  Funakoshi,  Instructor 
Narita  Kotaro,  Instructor  Ikuta  Kokinji. 

12.30  o'clock,  respiration  is  extraordinarily  difficult. 

I  mean  I  am  breathing  gasoline.  I  am  intoxicated 
with  gasoline. 

Captain  Nakano.1 

It  is  12.40  o'clock. 

Abraham  Lincoln  comforts  a  mother    ^>        *^v        "^ 

EXECUTIVE  MANSION,  WASHINGTON 
November  21,  1864 

Mrs.  Bixby,  Boston,  Massachusetts. 

AR  MADAM,  —  I  have  been  shown  in  the  files  of 
the  War  Department,  a  statement  of  the  Adjutant 

General  of  Massachusetts  that  you  are  the  mother  of  five 

1  This  is  the  name  of  another  officer  to  whom  the  dying  officer 
desired  to  be  remembered. 

261 


D 


The  Second  Post 

sons  who  have  died  gloriously  on  the  field  of  battle.  I 
feel  how  weak  and  fruitless  must  be  any  words  of  mine 
which  should  attempt  to  beguile  you  from  your  grief 
for  a  loss  so  overwhelming.  But  I  cannot  refrain  from 
tendering  to  you  the  consolation  that  may  be  found  in 
the  thanks  of  the  Republic  they  died  to  save.  I  pray  that 
our  heavenly  Father  may  assuage  the  anguish  of  your 
bereavement  and  leave  you  only  the  cherished  memory 
of  the  loved  and  lost,  and  the  solemn  pride  that  must  be 
yours  to  have  laid  so  costly  a  sacrifice  upon  the  altar  of 
freedom.  —  Yours  very  sincerely  and  respectfully 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 


262 


ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 

FOR  copyright  letters  in  the  foregoing   pages  I  am 
indebted  to  the  kindness  of  their  owners,  and  I 
am  very  grateful  to  them.    A  list  is  appended :  — 

Miss  Janet  Aldis  allows  me  to  use  passages  from  her 

translations  of  Madame  de  Sevigne  in  The  Queen 

of  Letter-Writers  (Methuen). 
Mr.  Alexander  Carlyle  allows  me  to  print  from   the 

Letters    and   Memorials    of  Jane    Welsh  Carlyle 

(Longmans)  several  letters,  and  also  three  from 

Early  Letters  of  Thomas  Carlyle  (  Mat-mil  Ian). 
Messrs.  Chapman  &  Hall  allow  me  to  make  extracts 

from  Forster's  Works  and  Life  of  Walter  Savage 

Landor,  published  by  them. 
Messrs.  Chatto  &  Windus  allow  me  to  make  extracts 

from  the  Correspondence  and  Table  Talk  of  B.  R. 

Hay  don. 
Mr.  Buxton  Forman,  C.B.,  allows  me  to  use  the  text  of 

Keats'  letters  in  his  edition  of  the  poet  published 

by  Messrs.  Gowans  &  Gray. 
Mr.  Walter  Frith  allows  me  to  print  a  humorous 

begging  letter  from   his  father's   Reminiscences 

published  by  Messrs.  Macmillan. 
Miss   Georgina  Hogarth  allows  me   to  include  five 

letters  of  Charles  Dickens  from  the  edition  of  his 

correspondence  published  by  Messrs.  Macmillan. 
263 


The  Second   Post 

Mr.  F.  D.  How  and  Messrs.  Pitman  allow  me  to  use 
the  rhyming  letter  of  the  late  Bishop  Walsham 
How,  from  his  biography. 

Mr.  Roger  Ingpen  allows  me  to  use  his  text  of  three 
letters  of  Shelley,  as  printed  in  his  edition  of  the 
poet's  correspondence  published  by  Messrs  Pit- 
man. 

Messrs.  Sampson  Low  &  Co.  allow  me  to  include  two 
letters  of  O.  W.  Holmes  from  his  Life  and  Letters 
published  by  them. 

Messrs.  Macmillan  &  Co.  allow  me  to  print  eight 
letters  from  the  correspondence  of  Edward 
FitzGerald. 

Mr.  Lloyd  Osbourne  allows  me  to  print  eight  letters  of 
R.  L.  S.  from  Messrs.  Methuen's  edition  of  his 
correspondence,  edited  by  Mr.  Sidney  Colvin. 

Mr.  A.  G.  B.  Russell  allows  me  to  use  an  extract  from 
the  Letters  of  William  Blake  (Methuen). 

Miss  Edith  Sichel  allows  me  to  quote  a  letter  from  her 
memoir  of  Canon  Ainger  published  by  Messrs. 
Constable. 


264 


Anthologies  of  Varied  Charm-Collected  by  E.  V.  LUCAS 

The  Gentlest  Art 

A  Choice  of  Letters  by  Entertaining  Hands 

An  anthology  of  letter  writing,  so  human,  interesting,  and  ainus 
ing  from  first  to  last,  as  almost  to  inspire  one  to  attempt  the 
restoration  of  a  lost  art.  "  We  do  not  believe  that  a  more  lik- 
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A  Further  Collection  of  Entertaining  Letters 

A  more  charming  book  of  letters  could  hardly  be  desired  than 
Mr.  Lucas's  "The  Gentlest  Art";  his  new  volume  has  the 
same  delightful  savor  of  interesting  personalities,  and  is  equally 
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The  Ladies'  Pageant 

Better  than  any  one  else  whose  name  comes  to  mind,  Mr.  Lucas 
has  mastered  the  difficult  art  of  the  compiler.  There  is  more 
individuality  in  "The  Gentlest  Art,"  for  instance,  than  in  the 
so-called  original  works  of  many  an  author.  This  happy  knack 
of  assembling  the  best  things  in  the  world  on  a  given  subject 
i.s  given  free  play  in  the  present  book,  the  subject  of  which  is 
the  Kternal  Feminine.  Here  are  all  the  best  words  of  the 
ports  on  a  theme  which  surely  offers  scope  for  more  variety 
than  any  other  within  the  view  of  the  reader.  Like  others  of 
Mr.  Lucas's  books,  this  is  attractively  bound  and  decorated. 

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Some  Friends  of  Mine 

A  Rally  of  Men 

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he  is  actually  mingling  with  the  people  of  the  story  and  at- 
tending their  picnics  and  parties.  Some  of  them  are  Dicken- 
sian  and  quaint,  some  of  them  splendid  types  of  to-day,  but  all 
of  them  are  touched  off  with  sympathy  and  skill  and  with  that 
gentle  humor  in  which  Mr.  Lucas  shows  the  intimate  quality, 
the  underlying  tender  humanity,  of  his  art. 

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Listener's  Lure 

A  Kensington  Comedy 

A  novel,  original  and  pleasing,  whose  special  charm  lies  in  its 
happy  phrasing  of  acute  observations  of  life.  For  the  delicacy 
with  which  his  personalities  reveal  themselves  through  their 
own  letters,  "  the  book  might  be  favorably  compared,"  says 
the  Chicago  Tribzine,  "with  much  of  Jane  Austen's  character 
work" — and  the  critic  proceeds  to  justify,  by  quotations, what 
he  admits  is  high  praise  indeed. 

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Books  of  Travel  by  E.  V.  LUCAS 

A  Wanderer  in  London 

With  sixteen  illustrations  in  color  by  Mr.  Nelson  Dawson 
and  thirty-six  reproductions  of  great  pictures 

Cloth,  8vo,  $1.75  net;  by  mail,  $1.87 
"  Mr.  Lucas  describes  London  in  a  style  that  is  always  enter- 
taining, surprisingly  like  Andrew  Lang's,  full  of  unexpected 
suggestions  and  points  of  view,  so  that  one  who  knows  Lon- 
don well  will  hereafter  look  on  it  with  changed  eyes,  and  one 
who  has  only  a  bowing  acquaintance  will  feel  that  he  has  sud- 
denly become  intimate."  —  The  Nation. 

A  Wanderer  in  Holland 

With  twenty  illustrations  in  color  by  Herbert  Marshall 
besides  many  reproductions  of  the  masterpieces  of  Dutch  painters 

Cloth,  8w,  $2.00  net;  by  mail,  $2.14 
"  It  is  not  very  easy  to  point  out  the  merits  which  make  this 
volume  immeasurably  superior  to  nine-tenths  of  the  books  of 
travel  that  are  offered  the  public  from  time  to  time.  Perhaps 
it  is  to  be  traced  to  the  fact  that  Mr.  Lucas  is  an  intellectual 
loiterer,  rather  than  a  keen-eyed  reporter,  eager  to  catch  a  train 
for  the  next  stopping-place.  It  is  also  to  be  found  partially  in 
the  fact  that  the  author  is  so  much  in  love  with  the  artistic  life 
of  Holland."  —  Globe- Democrat,  St.  Louis. 
"  It  is  hard  to  imagine  a  pleasanter  book  of  its  kind."  —  Cou- 
rier-Journal, Louisville. 

A  Wanderer  in  Paris 

With  sixteen  illustrations  in  color  by  Walter  Dexter 
and  thirty-two  reproductions  of  works  of  art  in  half-tone 

Cloth,  crown  8vo,  $1.75  net;  by  mail,  $1.87 
In  some  respects  it  is  a  glorified  Baedeker,  a  guide  for  the 
traveller  interested  in  French  history,  in  pictures,  and  in  the 
distinctive  qualities  of  the  French  people.  There  is  charm  in 
its  vivid  painting  of  the  vivacity  and  gayety  of  Paris  streets, 
fine  analysis  in  the  penetration  that  sees  often  a  suggestion  of 
anxiety  under  the  animation  of  face  and  gesture.  He  has  a 
happy  faculty  of  creating  a  desire  to  see  the  scenes  he  describes 
and  a  knack  of  expressing  exactly  the  shade  of  pleasure  the 
cultivated  traveller  has  felt  and  perhaps  been  unable  to  put 
into  words.  

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Volumes  of  Essays  by  E.  V.  LUCAS 

Character  and  Comedy 

"  Of  all  the  readers  of  Charles  Lamb  who  have  striven  to  emu- 
late him,  Mr.  Lucas  conies  nearest  to  being  worthy  of  him. 
Perhaps  it  is  because  it  is  natural  to  him  to  look  upon  life  and 
letters  and  all  things  with  something  of  Lamb's  gentleness, 
sweetness,  and  humor." —  The  Tribune. 

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One  Day  and  Another 


"  The  informality,  intimacy,  unaffected  humor,  of  these  unpre- 
tentious papers  make  them  delightful  reading."  — The  Outlook. 

Cloth,  idmo,  $1.25  net;  by  mail,  $1.35 
BOOKS   FOR   CHILDREN 

Anne's  Terrible  Good  Nature 

A  book  of  stories  delightfully  lighted  up  with  such  a  whimsical 
strain  of  humor  as  children  enjoy. 

Cloth,  I2mo,  colored  illustrations,  $1.75 

The  Slowcoach 

Mr.  Lucas  has  a  unique  way  of  looking  at  life,  of  seeing  the 
humor  of  everyday  things,  which  exactly  suits  the  butterfly 
fancy  of  a  bright  child. 

Decorated  cloth,  illustrated.     Just  ready 

Another  Book  of  Verse  for  Children 

Verses  of  the  seasons,  of  "  little  fowls  of  the  air,"  and  of  "  the 
country  road"  ;  ballads  of  sailormen  and  of  battle;  songs  of 
the  hearthrug,  and  of  the  joy  of  being  alive  and  a  child, 
selected  by  Mr.  Lucas  and  illustrated  in  black  and  white  and 
with  colored  plates  by  Mr.  F.  D.  Bedford.  The  wording  of 
the  title  is  an  allusion  to  the  very  successful  "  Book  of  Verse 
for  Children  "  issued  ten  years  ago.  The  Athenczum  describes 
Mr.  Lucas  as  "  the  ideal  editor  for  such  a  book  as  this." 

Cloth,  Svo,  colored  illustrations,  $1.50  net 

Three  Hundred  Games  and  Pastimes 

OK,  WHAT  SHALL  WE  Do  Now  ?  A  book  of  suggestions  for 
the  employment  of  young  hands  and  minds,  directions  for 
playing  many  children's  games,  etc. 

Decorated  cloth,  x  +  392  pages,  $2.00  net 


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